The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “The ambush at the pond,” Stiger said.

  “Yes,” Father Thomas said, “they came to kill you and I think it’s fair to say that they will try again.”

  “You ask too much,” Stiger said. He desired no part of any of this and simply wanted to be left alone. But, he knew deep down that Castor would never leave him be.

  Father Thomas sucked in a breath and let it out slowly before meeting Stiger’s gaze, as if he could read thoughts. “My son, for those called to serve, we are asked to sacrifice. Some may even be asked to make the ultimate sacrifice to do what is right.”

  “Like Father Griggs?” Stiger asked, feeling suddenly helpless. “If so, I think I would prefer to pass on that fate. Now that I consider it, if I am to end up like him, I’m inclined to not go along with this charade.”

  “You must,” Thoggle said, and tapped his staff on the ground with a soft thud. “For without you, all is lost. I thought I made that abundantly clear.”

  “You can cast a spell to make anyone look and sound like Delvaris. Find someone else,” Stiger said with a quick glance toward the farmhouse. Sarai was standing in the doorway watching them. She was too far to hear what was being discussed, which Stiger felt was a small blessing. He turned his gaze back to Thoggle, thinking it ironic that they were discussing the fate of their world in a farmyard, just feet from a compost pile that stank terribly. Stiger pointed at the tribune. “Pick Arvus here to save you. He’s keen on leading his legion against impossible odds. This is his chance. Let him take on this burden.”

  “There is no one else,” Thoggle said. “You are it. Destiny’s mark is upon you.”

  It was as he had feared. Stiger rubbed his jaw in frustration. It always seemed to come down to him. Just when he had found happiness, it seemed that he might lose that too. Stiger stole another glance toward the house and his eyes met those of Sarai. The problem was, he did not wish to give up what he had found.

  “Menos essentially said the same thing,” Stiger admitted.

  “He was here?” Thoggle asked, taking a shuffling half step forward. “Menos was here?”

  “A short while before you lot arrived,” Stiger said.

  “I wish he had respected my wishes,” Thoggle said with a deep scowl. The wizard tapped his staff on the ground.

  “At least he gave me warning about Rarokan,” Stiger countered. “That’s more than you did.”

  “Did he mention the summit as well?” Thoggle held Stiger’s gaze for a moment, then rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, the frustration clear. “Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes, with the orcs,” Stiger confirmed.

  Thoggle smacked the butt of his staff hard on the ground. “Though well-intentioned, the noctalum should have known better than to interfere.”

  “You both should know better,” Stiger said with heat, looking from Father Thomas to Thoggle. “Negotiating with the orcs is a mistake. There is no point treating with them.”

  “The thane feels otherwise,” Arvus said to Stiger, crossing his arms. “The dwarves apparently have a long history with the tribes that, admittedly, is not without trouble, but overall has been fairly peaceful.”

  “It is a mistake,” Stiger repeated. “The attack on my person only proves that there will be further trouble. If you think otherwise, you delude yourself. The people of this valley will suffer for it.”

  “We take this threat seriously,” Arvus said. “The entirety of the legion, along with our auxiliary cohorts, has been moved into the valley and a dwarven army is being called up. Should negotiations fail, the orcs will find they have bitten off more than they can chew. That said, the king of the orcs has requested a meeting on neutral ground. Though it is detestable to meet with such loathsome creatures, the thane has accepted the invitation and I feel honor-bound to participate and represent the empire’s interests. I will be sending Sabinus here, along with a century as escort. Father Thomas will be going as well, and he has requested quite forcefully that you also attend. Which is why I am here. I wished to meet you first before giving my blessing.”

  “Now why would you want that?” Stiger looked pointedly, first at Thoggle and then Father Thomas.

  “I feel called to bring you,” Father Thomas said simply, and then gave a shrug. “It seems the High Father desires you to go.”

  Stiger rubbed the back of his neck, feeling that he was losing control. No, he had already lost control from the moment he picked up Delvaris’s sword. “And the thane approved this? He will let me out of the prison he put me in?”

  “He did,” Thoggle said. “And you were never a prisoner.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Stiger said.

  “This was for your protection,” Thoggle said. “With a minion on the loose, it was my idea. I knew there was a strong chance our enemy would come for you.” Thoggle paused and sucked in a breath. “It is why I made sure you had the sword close to hand.”

  “You could have told me,” Stiger said.

  “I did,” Thoggle said.

  “No,” Stiger said with a quick glance at the nearest guard ten yards away. “You told me a half-truth that my guard were to protect me, not why.”

  “Blame me,” Father Thomas said, “if you are to blame anyone. It was I who convinced Thoggle to conceal the nature of the threat from you, until it materialized or we could get a handle on it. We thought we would have more time, but the attack has shown otherwise. Events with the enemy are proceeding faster than anticipated.”

  “We had hoped,” Thoggle said and gestured back at Sarai, “that you would find some peace here, helping you become more centered with your being.”

  “What does that mean?” Stiger was feeling manipulated and he did not like it.

  “Burdened with the world on your shoulders, you were hanging on to too much anger,” Father Thomas said. “We felt you needed to find yourself again, in a way remove the burden you were carrying.”

  “Rarokan’s influence was growing too rapidly,” Thoggle added. “We both sensed it, felt it. I am sure the noctalum could detect it too, hence his visit. Had we told you in advance, saddled you with additional concerns, the chance of you finding any semblance of peace would have been minimal. Even I can tell you have found it, and been grounded by it.” Thoggle’s gaze flicked to the sword. “When it matters most, I hope that peace and grounding will save us all.”

  Stiger knew honesty when he heard it. He did not have to like it, but he understood it.

  “You will not mislead or lie to me again,” Stiger said. He hated when others tried to shield or spare him from unpleasantness. Stiger looked at the paladin. “Tell me we have an understanding.”

  “Upon my lord, the High Father,” Father Thomas said, “you have my word.”

  Stiger turned his gaze to Thoggle.

  “I cannot give you what you wish,” Thoggle said. The wizard took a shallow breath and let it out. “There are things I know, or may become privy to, that you can never learn, nor do I dare share. Such is the way with my service to my god.”

  Stiger did not like Thoggle’s answer.

  “I am not going,” Stiger said.

  “You are,” Thoggle insisted, and there was a hard edge to the wizard’s tone.

  “No, I am not.” Stiger was becoming enraged again.

  You must go, the sword hissed and its presence returned with a vengeance, for it has already happened.

  Stiger grew cold at the words, and the feeling of being trapped only intensified. There was more to it than simply not wanting to go and turning his back on what was about to occur here in the valley. The sword had shown him what had happened to Delvaris. Stiger now understood that vision he had been shown might very well not have been his ancestor. The feeling of being roped in by destiny and the gods was growing by the moment.

  I won’t let you fall to the shadow, the sword hissed, I cannot allow that to happen.

  The words did little to assure him. In fact, they did the opposite. Stiger als
o understood that if he went with them to this summit, he would potentially lose everything he had gained over the last few weeks—contentment he had found with Sarai—especially if he died at the minion’s hands.

  “No,” Stiger said firmly, and every eye was upon him. “I have given enough. My time as a soldier is over.” Stiger began stalking toward the house and Sarai, who looked on with concern.

  “Are you sure this man is the brave soldier you told me of?” Arvus asked of Father Thomas.

  Stiger stopped and looked back.

  Dog stood and gave a low, menacing growl, eyes locked upon Arvus. The tribune took a step away from the large animal as it stood.

  “Dog, down,” Stiger snapped absently. Dog ceased his growling and sat, but his eyes never left Arvus.

  Stiger eyed the tribune for a long moment, his anger simmering. The man seemed competent enough, and may have seen action; however, his words still pricked at Stiger’s sense of honor and self-worth. In fact, they struck too close to home, to his sworn duty and his promise to the High Father.

  There was a long moment of silence before Stiger spoke. He forced his pride down. “I have led men in battle. I have led many thousands of men, in fact. I have watched more good boys than I can count die or become horribly maimed upon my orders. I fought alongside dwarves, elves, and gnomes. I’ve directly faced servants of the dark gods and done battle with them. I’ve fought orcs and with my own hands personally sent them into the shadow.” Stiger fell silent for a few heartbeats, all eyes upon him. He cleared his throat. “You can question my bravery all you wish, but I know who I am and your opinion of me changes nothing. The orcs are coming to take this valley.”

  Stiger pointed at the forbidding Thane’s Mountain, which towered above the other peaks. Its top was coated in white.

  “Make no mistake. They come for the World Gate and with them will be their evil priests, wielding Castor’s dark magic. Worse, they will be accompanied by a minion, an evil being of terrible power devoted to Castor’s service. I have already seen such horrors and, with the paladin, have even fought one. You, sir, have not.” Stiger took a deep breath. “I grow weary of such things.”

  There was a general silence after Stiger had spoken. No one seemed to desire to break it. Thoggle glanced at the ground and tapped his staff with his thumb absently. Arvus even looked uncomfortably away.

  “Then”—Sabinus cleared his throat, boldly speaking up—“don’t you think what you have found with Sarai is worth fighting for?”

  Stiger turned a hard look upon the centurion. Sabinus met his gaze with one of matching steel. Stiger felt something in him wanting to go with them to the summit, nudging at him, tugging him forward, but at the same time something else was screaming for him to remain with Sarai. In short, he was torn by duty, service to the empire, his god, and love.

  “You have more experience against orcs than any of us,” Sabinus continued. “I think you should most definitely go and lend us your expertise. It is the honorable and right thing to do. I suspect you know this.”

  Stiger said nothing.

  Father Thomas stepped up to him and placed a hand upon his shoulder. He leaned forward and whispered so that only the two of them could hear. “I know you feel called to go as well. The High Father speaks to you. You cannot deny it. The presence of the dog is proof enough.”

  Stiger’s eyes went to Dog, who had laid back down and gone to sleep. He looked back over at the paladin. Their eyes locked and Father Thomas held his gaze a moment before stepping back.

  “The thane’s party will depart in the morning,” Arvus said. “Sabinus will come to collect you. Go, don’t go. It is your choice. After what you’ve told me, I have wasted enough time here. I need to get my legion ready for a fight.”

  With that, the tribune turned away and walked toward his horse. Sabinus looked at Stiger and gave a nod before turning away too, leaving Father Thomas behind with Thoggle.

  “You have told Sarai everything,” Thoggle said once the others were out of earshot. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes,” Stiger admitted. “You will not harm her.”

  “No, I will not damage her in any way,” Thoggle said, looking extremely weary once again. “I had warned you against such disclosures. If it becomes needed, I will cloud her memory. That may affect her feelings toward you.”

  “Let’s hope it does not come to that,” Stiger said.

  “Let us hope,” Thoggle said.

  “About going . . .” Father Thomas said and let the rest of what he was going to say hang on the air as he clearly reconsidered what he wanted to say. “Those orcs that attacked you are of the Theltra, a religious order of warriors in direct service to Castor. They answer only to the priestly caste and not the king. That is why the thane feels there may still be some hope. Thoggle and I think so as well.”

  “I will speak with Sarai about it,” Stiger said to them.

  “I would expect nothing less,” Father Thomas said. “Sabinus and I will be here in the morning to collect you, sometime after dawn. I pray that you join us.”

  Stiger gave a tired nod, turned away, and walked to Sarai. There was a sorrowful look in her eyes.

  “We have a lot to discuss,” Stiger said when he came up to her.

  She nodded and together they entered the house.

  Chapter Eight

  Stiger laced up his sandals and tied them tight. Leaning back on the stool in the kitchen, he looked up at Sarai. A tallow candle on the table provided the only other light source in the kitchen besides the fireplace. It was early morning, and the sun was just coming up. Though the air outside was chill, they had been awake for a while and had restarted the fire two hours before.

  Sarai was busy placing carefully wrapped bundles of food into his saddlebags on the table, next to which lay his armor. Stiger watched her, feeling pained at their coming parting. She was fair but rather plain looking, someone who would not stand out in a crowd. And yet, to his eyes and heart, she was a beauty. His hand absently reached up to his cheek and touched the damaged skin. With the scar, he knew he was no looker himself.

  Stiger admired her inner strength, determination, and intelligence. It was something he could appreciate. After her husband’s death, she had survived and managed the farm herself.

  “I’ve packed plenty of that cheese you like,” she said. “The dwarves make an interesting cheese that’s full of holes. They are quite fond of it. I am not sure you will find it to your liking.”

  “Good,” Stiger said. “I will only be gone a few days. Yours should be fine.” He didn’t really enjoy the cheese she made, but he led her to believe he did. It was a small untruth that purchased her some measure of happiness.

  “I’ve also put in a loaf of fresh bread and some of that salted pork that I bought at the market last week,” Sarai told him as she tied the last saddlebag closed.

  She made good bread and it was a welcome addition. The salt pork was not.

  “It’s not much, but it is enough.”

  “I have to go to this summit,” Stiger said. “You know that I don’t want to, but I feel that I must.”

  “I know, Ben,” Sarai said. “I don’t want you to go either, but with everything you’ve told me . . .” She fell silent and looked down at the floor. “It frightens me terribly. You should be there, where you can make a difference.”

  “Father Thomas and Thoggle seem to think I can do some good,” Stiger said.

  “I know you can as well,” Sarai said. “I feel much better knowing you are going. This valley is my home. If we need to fight to keep it, then so be it.”

  Stiger eyed her silently. His hand gripped the table. Though he should only be gone a few days, he would miss her terribly.

  Stiger stood and placed the stool under the table where it belonged. He eyed his armor. The dwarves had brought it the previous evening. He had not seen his armor since he had arrived. Next to it was a small bag of his possessions that the dwarves had confiscated as well, incl
uding the purse he had carried on his person after stepping through the Gate.

  He placed a hand upon his armor. He had an uncomfortable feeling that once he put it on, he would be crossing a line. Once he stepped over, there could be no going back. The happiness he had known would soon be at an end.

  Stiger hesitated, grinding his teeth and hating himself for what he must do. He had made his decision. Now it was time to see it through. Stiger picked up his armor and slipped it on. He had forgotten the heavy deadweight that came with wearing it, but the armor felt like an old friend. Shrugging his shoulders to get comfortable, he began fastening it up tightly and making sure to tie off the straps using a double knot. Sarai came over and helped. Stiger allowed her to finish up. He said nothing as she worked. He just admired her. As she finished the last knot, she looked up at him and their eyes met. There were tears in her eyes.

  “After my husband died . . .” Sarai said in a near whisper. She swallowed before continuing. “I never thought I would find love again, never ever.”

  Stiger grabbed her and pulled her close against his chest and held her, kissing the top of her head as she tucked under his chin. She gave a slight shudder, then after a moment stepped back and wiped her face. The chest plate on his armor was wet.

  “I know,” he said, his voice gruff as he eyed her.

  “I have given you my heart,” Sarai said.

  “And I have given you mine,” Stiger said.

  Stiger slipped on his greaves as Sarai picked up his folded blue cloak, shook it out, and then stepped behind him, clipping it on. The dwarves had cleaned and mended the cloak’s numerous holes and the frayed ends. The cloak looked new, as it had on the day he had taken it from Delvaris’s tomb.

  The sound of horses approaching told him that it was almost time to go. He stepped over to the corner, where Rarokan was leaning against the wall. After a slight hesitation, he picked up the sword by the lacquered scabbard and slipped it on. He turned and saw her studying him.

  “My soldier,” she said with a note of pride. “You look the part, the dashing leader you told me of and I always believed you to be.”