The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  The outskirts of Bridgetown came into view around noon. Smoke rose from the tight cluster of buildings just down the road. Father Thomas and Sabinus stopped their horses nearly on the edge of town. Stiger could see legionary sentries posted, just a few yards ahead.

  “Remember,” Father Thomas said, “the men will see you as Legate Delvaris. You need to act as if you are him. Should you fail, they may lose confidence in you as a leader.”

  Stiger gave an unhappy but curt nod of acceptance. “Easier said than done, since I’ve never met him.”

  “You look like him,” Sabinus said, “despite that scar on your cheek. You both might have been brothers. You sound like him as well.”

  “That still doesn’t help me much, now, does it?” Stiger said.

  “I will coach you,” Sabinus said, “and point out people you should know. It is why Father Thomas wanted me along. I will also provide advice now and then, should you wish it.”

  “Good,” Stiger said, “then you stick close. Since I don’t have any junior tribunes handy, you are now my aide. Until further notice you are detached from your regular duties. Understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Sabinus said. “I guess it is as good an excuse as any.”

  “Tell me about the century waiting for us.”

  “Fifth Century, Second Cohort,” Sabinus said, glancing at the sentries who were undoubtedly wondering why they had stopped. “Centurion Pixus commands. He is a good man, and reliable. Pixus has served in this legion for nearly twenty years and, like most other centurions in the Thirteenth, came up through the ranks. You can count on him, but more importantly, he will know you.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No,” Sabinus said.

  “How does Delvaris handle his men?”

  Sabinus thought a moment before answering.

  “The legate is stiffly formal, proper,” Sabinus said, “a gentleman with a deep-seated sense of honor. He is fair and makes a point to listen to his officers. Once he has solicited advice, he considers it, then decides on a course of action. When the decision is made, he sticks with it and doesn’t brook further questioning or debate.”

  “What about under combat conditions?”

  “Cool as the most solid winter ice, sir,” Sabinus said. “Nothing ruffles him.”

  “Sounds like my kind of man,” Stiger said. “I would’ve liked to have met him.”

  “He was the best of officers, sir,” Sabinus said. “I respected him very much.”

  “All right.” Stiger nudged his horse forward. “Oh, one other thing. What did Delvaris call Dog?”

  “I don’t think he ever had a name for him,” Sabinus said with a frown. “He just called him Dog or the dog, like you do. It’s why I thought you called him that.”

  Dog had returned a short while before and was walking along next to Stiger’s horse. Stiger glanced down at the animal and wondered on the odds he and Delvaris had given the animal the same name. The coincidence was unnerving. Dog abruptly took off, running madly for another stand of trees twenty yards off. Then he was lost from view again as he plunged into them.

  “He must have seen a rabbit,” Sabinus said as they neared the sentries.

  “A squirrel or something,” Stiger said. “With all the preparations this morning, I don’t think Sarai got around to feeding him.”

  The sentries snapped to attention and saluted. Sabinus, riding next to Stiger, leaned close. “Rather than saluting, Delvaris waves casually. Rarely, if ever, does he return salutes, sir.”

  Stiger nodded and held his hand up as they rode past. The legionaries’ eyes were on him. Once past, Stiger released a breath he had not realized he was holding. He focused his mind on what was to come. As if heading into battle, he made a point to study his surroundings.

  Bridgetown was larger than it was in Stiger’s time. There were at least thirty buildings, most of which had grass thatched roofs. Besides the small houses, there were also a number of barns and storehouses.

  Unlike the village Stiger knew it to be in the future, Bridgetown looked to be more of a small, prosperous town surrounded by cultivated fields that had already been harvested or were about to be. It was certainly a growing community. A goodly number of children came out to watch them as they made their way into town.

  Stiger even spotted a smithy and next door a farrier, where in the future there had been none. There were also a couple of taverns. The first one they passed. The second one was in the exact same spot as Malik’s. This tavern was, however, a completely different building, and much larger, too. Sabinus led them to it.

  A sign hung out front proclaimed, Standing Bear Tavern. Next to the sign, painted on the wall was an image of a large black bear standing on its hind legs. It wasn’t a very good painting.

  Fifth Century had been waiting before the tavern. Sighting Delvaris, they jumped to their feet and rushed forward. The men gave a cheer as Stiger and his party rode up to the tavern. Stiger offered what he considered a suitable wave.

  He noticed that there were dwarven infantry waiting, too. They were lounging about and did nothing more than glance in his direction, then resume their conversations and dice games. Stiger noticed that a few of the legionaries gave the dwarves black looks for their lack of concern.

  Sabinus called out an order that cut above all the noise. The men gave them space, and they continued on to the hitching posts.

  “With all of these dwarves around, I would assume the thane is inside,” Father Thomas said, coming up to Stiger. “Shall we go see him?”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Stiger said, dismounting. He felt very uncomfortable pretending to be a man he wasn’t. Though the legionaries had given them room, their eyes were still upon him. He quickly tied Misty to the hitching post, where several dwarven ponies were secured.

  “Centurion Sabinus.” Father Thomas turned to the officer. “I think it best if you wait outside. There may be matters discussed that you should not hear.”

  “Got it.”

  Father Thomas led the way. Behind them, Theo had dismounted and was securing his pony.

  A centurion carrying a vine cane exited the tavern as they were nearing the door. Stiger took the centurion to be Pixus, who stiffened to attention and saluted.

  “Centurion,” Stiger greeted.

  “Nice to have you back with us, sir,” Centurion Pixus said in a firm tone. The centurion was a tall man in his mid-thirties. He had a rugged look about him. His short-cropped hair was brown, as were his eyes, and his neck was thickened from years of service. Pixus also had a small zigzag scar above his right temple that was slightly purplish in color. The man was clearly a veteran and exuded a natural confidence that Stiger warmed to immediately. Stiger’s eyes strayed to the six phalerae, awards he had received for valor.

  Pixus also carried a well-worn traditional vine cane. Such symbols of status and rank had mostly fallen out of practice in Stiger’s time.

  “Thank you, Centurion Pixus,” Stiger replied. “It is good to be back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pixus said. “I am sure it is.”

  “Would you check in with Centurion Sabinus? He is over there by our horses. I’d like no trouble between our men and the dwarves, especially since we will be traveling with them over the next few days.”

  “I will, sir,” Pixus said, “and there will be no trouble.”

  “Very good,” Stiger said, dismissing the centurion. Pixus moved toward Sabinus.

  Father Thomas opened the door and held it. Stiger made his way into the tavern’s large common room, which was dimly lit and slightly hazy from wood smoke. The shutters had been opened to allow in fresh air and light. Even so, several oil lamps hung from the ceiling to augment the natural light.

  Stiger estimated there were twenty communal tables, with an assortment of battered benches and stools. A large fireplace along the left wall had a good-sized fire going. The chimney apparently needed cleaning, as it leaked an inordinate amount of smoke into the room.
>
  Surprisingly, the common room was nearly empty. This likely was by design. Stiger spotted Thane Brogan seated at a table by the fire, with a dwarf to his right and left. Thoggle sat opposite the thane. There was no sign of the proprietor about or, for that matter, any servants.

  The thane stood as Stiger and Father Thomas walked over to the table. The dwarf on the thane’s right came to his feet as well. Thoggle remained seated. A moment later, the door behind them banged open and in walked Theo, moving a little too stiffly, and not because of his armor. Stiger suspected his friend was saddle sore. Theo spotted the thane and started over toward them.

  “Our last meeting wasn’t as pleasant as I would have preferred,” the thane said in near perfect common, shooting a quick glance over at Thoggle, who nodded in a pleased manner. The thane looked back to Stiger. “Perhaps, since we are going to be traveling companions for the next few days, you would care to join me in a drink?”

  “I would be honored,” Stiger said, understanding that this was as near an apology as he was likely to get from the thane. “It’s been a long ride. A drink is more than welcome.”

  There were several large pitchers on the table, as well as six clay jars for drinking. The thane picked up one of the pitchers and poured out two drinks of red liquid.

  “I prefer spirits,” the thane said, “but as this tavern only caters to humans, all they have here is heated wine and some piss poor excuse for beer that’s more swill than anything else. I would recommend against it.”

  He picked up a jar and handed one to Stiger. Since the thane had not poured anyone else a drink, including the paladin, Stiger understood the underlying significance. He was being singularly honored by the thane of the dwarves.

  “Thank you,” Stiger said, accepting the clay jar. “Wine is preferable, then.”

  “Damn right it is. Let us salute.” The thane raised his jar. “To a pleasant journey and a productive summit with those bloody heathenistic savages.”

  Stiger raised his as well and drank respectfully after the thane started in on his jar. Stiger found the wine to be of superb quality and very smooth. There was a fruity hint to its taste. He had not enjoyed a fine wine like it in months—Sarai hadn’t been able to afford the good stuff. He took another sip and savored the drink.

  “You already know Thoggle,” the thane said, placing his empty jar down on the table with such force it cracked the clay vessel. “This is my advisor and lifelong friend, Jorthan. I value his counsel as much as I do Thoggle’s.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Jorthan said, though his eyes seemed to say otherwise. The thane’s advisor wore a belted tunic, pants, and thick black boots. He was clearly not a warrior. Jorthan’s long blond hair was tied back in a pony tail. His beard reached down his belly and over his belt. Unlike most other dwarves Stiger had met, Jorthan’s beard had no braids or ties and was free-flowing.

  “It is an honor, Jorthan.”

  “Captain Taithun,” Brogan said, gesturing to an older dwarf who had been sitting to his left. The captain wore his armor, minus the horse-hair plumed helmet, which rested on an adjacent table. An ugly scar ran across his forehead. The captain had the look and confident manner of a battle-hardened veteran. “Taithun commands my escort and personal guard.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And I you,” Taithun said in a gravelly voice.

  The thane took Stiger’s empty jar and poured two more drinks. He handed the full jar back to Stiger.

  “Your turn,” the thane said. “I want to hear a human toast to our success.”

  Stiger eyed the thane a moment as he rapidly thought on what he wanted to say.

  “Let this summit be a success,” Stiger said, switching to dwarven, “for if it is not, then we shall happily kill bucket loads of orcs and send them on to their dark master for a fitting welcome.”

  The room fell silent for several heartbeats, the thane’s eyes narrowing at Stiger.

  “That is as fine a salute as I’ve heard. I will drink to that!” the thane finally said and threw back his wine, downing it in one go. Stiger took a sip, savoring the taste.

  “You speak our language,” the thane said, sounding somewhat pleased. “To use a human word, you honor us.”

  “Theo here has been a good teacher.” Stiger gestured toward his friend, who was standing quietly a couple of steps behind. “It is he who honored me with his teaching.”

  The thane looked past Stiger, and an unhappy look passed across his face. Theo shifted his feet nervously at the sudden praise and attention.

  “Still causing trouble, Theogdin?” the thane asked.

  “No more than usual, my thane,” Theo replied.

  “He is my first cousin.” The thane gestured with his empty jar at Theo. “The kind that starts the drama at close family gatherings, making them doubly insufferable affairs.”

  Stiger looked over at Theo with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’m not that bad,” Theo protested.

  “I am truly sorry for that,” Stiger said to the thane. “I have relatives just like him. We try to keep them as far away as possible. Is that why he’s posted to Captain Aleric’s company?”

  Jorthan stiffened, and the thane leaned back slightly, rocking on his heels.

  “I told you this one was smart,” Thoggle chuckled. “He may be onto something there, Brogan.”

  The thane let loose a guffaw that turned into a deep belly laugh.

  “I can tell we’re going to be good friends,” the thane said. “All good friendships should start with a fight.” The thane glanced over at Jorthan and placed a heavy hand upon Stiger’s shoulder. “When in our teens, Jorthan and I were both sweet on the same girl. At the time, I couldn’t stand the sight of him. With such things, as they naturally do, it all came to blows.”

  “You hit like a gnome,” Jorthan said.

  “Is that so?” the thane asked with a broad grin that seemed more challenge than anything else. Removing his hand from Stiger’s shoulder, he flexed his left arm and cracked his knuckles before making a fist.

  “What happened to the girl?” Stiger asked. “Who got her?”

  “That’s the ironic part,” Jorthan said. “She wasn’t interested in either of us. We beat each other silly and the next day she was taking walks with old Daggins—well, I suppose he was young back then.”

  “So were we,” the thane said. “That beating we gave him for stealing our girl was worth it.”

  “I don’t seem to recall it being much of a beating. He got in a few good licks that left us both with black eyes. It was more a draw than anything else, made worse that it was two on one.”

  Brogan and Jorthan chuckled at their shared memory, before the thane turned his gaze back to Theo.

  “Legate,” the thane said, eyes still on Theo, “I accept your apology for Theogdin.”

  “Now that’s just not fair,” Theo said, which caused the thane to grin.

  “Sit,” the thane said to Stiger. He gestured at the table. “And drink with us, for the road awaits and we have a long way to go.”

  Stiger took a seat across from the thane. Theo shot Stiger a sour look as he sat down on a stool to his right. Stiger gave him a wink in reply.

  “It is good to know that you have a sense of humor,” the thane said to Stiger. “It seems that our journey together may not be as tedious as I had thought.”

  “If you pour me another drink of that fine wine,” Stiger said, “I will toast to that.”

  Chapter Nine

  Stiger stepped out of the tavern, blinking under the bright early afternoon sun. His belly was full from a hearty beef stew that had been thick with carrots, leeks, and potatoes. The stew had been good, but not overly great. For an out-of-the-way tavern it was acceptable and, after the plain diet of living with Sarai, more than welcome. Stiger had also shared several jars of wine with the thane and Theo. When he had stopped his drinking for fear of becoming drunk, the thane had continued with Theo, downing
jar after jar.

  After the filling meal and drinks, Stiger was feeling quite good and, truth be told, a little sleepy. The temperature had warmed as the sun climbed higher into the sky. It was almost too warm and caused him to yawn. The sky was clear, bluer than the ocean and with only a handful of puffy white clouds slowly making their way across the sky. All in all, it was a perfect day for travel.

  The legionaries from Fifth Century had formed up into a double column for march. Marching yokes, javelins, packs, entrenching tools, and shields lay on the ground by their feet. Centurion Pixus stood slightly apart and was speaking with Sabinus, who held the reins of his horse.

  The dwarves had also formed up on the edge of town, along the road that led off toward Thane’s Mountain. Brogan’s escort numbered at least two hundred. Jorthan had told Stiger they were an elite company from the thane’s personal guard. All were handpicked warriors from the best of the best—veterans.

  Stiger’s gaze traveled up to Thane’s Mountain. It was tall and imposing, and it dominated this end of the valley. His thoughts drifted to all that happened in this area before he had traveled back in time. The desperate fight against the orcs just across the river weighed heavily upon his mind. It sobered him somewhat, and he wondered what was in store for him in the coming days and weeks. Stiger was seriously worried, for it felt like he was walking not only in his own steps, but now Delvaris’s too. Stiger moved his gaze to the ridgeline across the river. The Sabinus in Stiger’s time had told him a battle had been fought on that very spot; Stiger had waged his own here. Was he destined to now fight Delvaris’s battle, too? It certainly felt like it would be so.