The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Mood now subdued, Stiger moved to his horse. Father Thomas exited the tavern behind him and went for his own, which the paladin had secured to a hitching post several feet away. Stiger untied Misty and mounted up. Theo and the thane came out a few moments later, singing a bawdry tune together in dwarven. So bad was their singing, Stiger only managed to catch a third of the words they were cheerfully belting out. Both dwarves had consumed a great amount of wine and it showed not only with their walk, which was unsteady, but also in their tune.

  Stiger pulled Misty back and away from the hitching post. He shifted about as he did so, finding a comfortable seat, then shrugged his shoulders slightly. The straps from his armor were rubbing somewhat uncomfortably on his skin. Stiger had forgotten about the chafing. This evening he would be quite sore.

  “Take care of my thane, will you?”

  About to ride over to Sabinus and Pixus, Stiger checked himself and brought Misty to a halt. The horse sidestepped in apparent disappointment as Stiger looked down to find Thoggle. He had not seen the wizard leave the tavern, or even approach for that matter.

  “You’re not coming with us?” Stiger found he was somewhat surprised by this, but not overly much. The only other wizard he had known, Ogg, came and went at will. Why should it be any different for Thoggle?

  “Alas, no,” Thoggle said. “Should I attend, our enemy would surely notice my presence so far from my regular haunts. You see, Castor’s minion can sense my will . . . you might call it power, or my aura. It is rather imprecise, meaning the creature cannot tell exactly where I am, but it will have a general idea.”

  “You can sense it, too?” Stiger asked.

  “I can.”

  “And where is Castor’s minion now?”

  Thoggle turned to the west and gestured with his staff. “That way, deep in the mountains, perhaps two hundred miles, give or take ten or so.”

  Stiger found it uncanny that the wizard knew where the minion was, could sense it. It made him somewhat uncomfortable. A thought occurred to Stiger as he looked down on the wizard.

  “Why don’t you go deal with it, then?” Stiger said. “Kill it and end the threat, send it back to Castor. We would not have to go through with this summit.”

  “It is a little more complicated than that,” Thoggle said, looking up at him with tired eyes. Stiger got the sudden impression that a mountain weighed upon the wizard’s shoulders. “I cannot do as you suggest. It would be unwise.”

  Stiger grew irritated, but at the same time, Thoggle had just given him a nugget of information. Perhaps the wizard would be willing to share more?

  “I grow weary of getting half answers and having to piece things together,” Stiger said. “If it is so complicated, kindly explain it to me, then.”

  Thoggle shifted his staff and stared up at Stiger, eyes narrowing.

  “Very well,” Thoggle said. “You know the gods’ war, right?”

  Stiger nodded. “We are caught up in their struggle.”

  “That is correct,” Thoggle said. “The minion and I are given by our respective gods the potential to use will.” Thoggle held out his hand, palm upward. A tiny spark of blue light appeared, hovering an inch or so above the skin. It grew rapidly into a small ball, hissing softly and spitting soundless sparks. “Think of it as power, and with it comes certain additional abilities. Our will is somewhat different in that our gods are disparate entities.” Thoggle closed his hand and the ball of light extinguished itself. “Are you following me so far?”

  Stiger gave another nod.

  “Good,” Thoggle said, seeming pleased. “It is important that you understand. Should I directly confront Castor’s minion, it is possible I may defeat the creature. However, the outcome of such an encounter would be seriously in doubt. The minion knows this as well. And as such, it will not yet willingly choose to confront me directly, nor shall I it.”

  “It is too dangerous for either of you to contest the other?” Stiger asked.

  “Yes. In place of a direct conflict, we shall use proxies, hoping for an advantage to develop. Besides, I am most likely not the best person to challenge it. From what you and Father Thomas have told me, we know Delvaris faced it.”

  “In that vision I was shown, he died,” Stiger said, unhappily.

  “And defeated the creature,” Thoggle said.

  “So, I must face it.” Stiger was not eager to share Delvaris’s fate.

  Thoggle nodded gravely.

  “You work, in a way, like the gods themselves,” Stiger said, “meaning you use others to fight your battles.”

  Stiger thought he detected surprise in the wizard’s eyes as they blinked. Or was it anger? Whatever it had been passed in a flash.

  “I meant no offense,” Stiger said. He had just drawn things to their logical conclusion. “It was just an observation.”

  “A good one,” Thoggle conceded and shifted his grip on his staff. “And you are more correct than you realize. The minion and I have tasks that need to be completed, things that must be done. We dare not risk a direct confrontation.”

  “I see,” Stiger said, wondering what those tasks were and who had set them. He suspected that he knew the answer to that. His hand strayed to his hilt, and his eyes shifted to the distant speck of the fortress that guarded the valley. “Father Thomas and I defeated a minion in Grata’Kor. I used the sword to do that.”

  “I know,” Thoggle said, his eyes resting uneasily upon Stiger’s sword. “Father Thomas told me. Rarokan is a powerful and dangerous relic, a tool forged directly by the gods.” Thoggle shifted his staff. “And yes, it has the power to end a minion of Castor. The blade also has the will to do much more. Yet, even with it . . . we should move carefully and confront the creature on our terms, when we have the best chance for success. Until then, we must prepare and work to stack the board to our advantage.” Thoggle tapped his staff on the ground. “That means we must work to counter and frustrate Castor’s plans.”

  “Which is why you put Brogan up to the summit, even though you dare not go yourself?”

  “Correct,” Thoggle said. “If we can keep the orcs from organizing, we buy ourselves time to prepare. And more importantly, it is our understanding the summit is being held without the knowledge of the orc priests. As a result, with a little fortune, the minion will be ignorant of our attempt to drive a wedge into the unity it is struggling to create amongst the tribes. Which is why, should I go, our enemy will become curious as to why I have strayed and send agents to investigate. I am certain we both can agree we don’t want that happening.”

  “You really believe that something can be gained from going, then?” Stiger was surprised that the wizard, knowing all that he had told him of the future, the orcs, and what was to come, would still hold out hope. It was a mad plan, but if it worked . . .

  “What I believe is immaterial,” Thoggle admitted with a slight shrug. He shifted his staff from one hand to the other. “Without the attempt, we will never know what can be gained, now, will we?”

  “There is that,” Stiger said. “However, you risk not only my life but the lives of all those going, including your thane. Have you considered what can be lost in this venture?”

  “I have,” Thoggle said, “and as you suggest, there is risk. However, the summit is being held on neutral and ancient holy ground. It was chosen with great care and is a site that even the minion and most orcs would choose to avoid.” Thoggle paused and sucked in a breath. “It is far from orc lands, but not so distant from our own. Should something happen, I can easily be called upon to help by Jorthan.” Thoggle’s gaze moved to the thane.

  The thane and Theo finished up their tune, striking a particularly terrible high note that was almost painful enough to shatter glass. Song finished, they slapped each other fondly on their backs.

  Thoggle continued. “The thane has also dispatched pioneers to scout the surrounding area about the summit. At the very least, there should be some warning if the orcs mean to betray us.”


  Stiger considered the wizard for a long moment. “I hope you are right.”

  “I do too,” Thoggle said, gaze traveling back to the thane. “As I said, make sure the thane comes back.”

  “Thank you,” Stiger said and hesitated a moment. “I appreciate you taking the time to explain.”

  “To be victorious, a general must see the land he is fighting over,” Thoggle said. “I did nothing more than show you the lay of the land.” Thoggle turned away and then paused, looking back. “I also disabled the tracking spell. I wasn’t completely truthful with you. It would also have prevented you from leaving the valley, in a painful way, had you tried to do so.” Thoggle’s eyes flashed with amusement. “You are your own man now and may go where you wish.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Thoggle turned his back on Stiger and began painfully stumping back toward the tavern. Jorthan stood in the doorway watching Stiger with an unfathomable expression.

  “Now this,” Theo said, coming up and slurring his words slightly, “is how all journeys should begin.”

  The thane walked over to where his dwarven escort was holding his pony. Jorthan started after him. The thane’s escort drew themselves up, making ready as shouts were called out by their officers.

  “Will you be able to ride?” Stiger asked Theo, who had attempted to pull himself up into the saddle and utterly failed, slipping right back down to the ground.

  “Stupid animal,” Theo groused, barely managing to stay on his feet. He fixed a bleary-eyed gaze on Stiger and wagged a thick index finger. “None of your negativity, now. Nope, don’t need none of that. Happy thoughts only. Got me?” Theo made another attempt. This one failed also. He pointed an accusatory finger at Stiger and shook it. “You say nothing. Don’t distract me. I will get it eventually.”

  Stiger leaned forward in the saddle and grinned at the struggling dwarf.

  “Would you like a boost?”

  Theo glared at Stiger before making a third go at it. He succeeded and mounted his pony. He wavered precariously, and Stiger wondered for an alarmed heartbeat if the dwarf would slip out of the saddle. After a few moments, Theo seemed to get his bearings. He made a tremendous effort to hold himself steady, though he had to lean forward with both hands and hold the pony’s neck for stability. Once he was sure of himself, he reached for the reins to pull his horse around, only to discover that his horse was still tethered to the hitch.

  “Wouldn’t you know it?” Theo said with disgust.

  Stiger slapped his thigh, thoroughly amused.

  “I fear it will be a long ride for you, my friend,” Stiger said. “I’m thinking you will come to regret that drinking session soon enough.”

  Sliding off his horse, Theo spared him a dark look. The dwarf untied his horse and took the reins in his hand.

  “It’s like when you go for a walk,” Stiger said. “First you put on your sandals, then you walk. It is a simple enough concept.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Theo said, pulling himself successfully back up into the saddle. “Very wise advice. You know, you may want to consider becoming an oracle or scholar or something like that. Your talents are clearly wasted as a warrior. I am going to ride with the thane today, instead of you. He’s more fun.”

  Stiger wheeled his horse around. Sabinus waited a few feet ahead with Pixus. The centurion of the Fifth idly tapped his vine cane upon the ground. Stiger started over. Next to the two officers stood the standard-bearer, who had been engaged in conversation with them. Both centurions offered Stiger a salute. The standard-bearer simply straightened. Mindful of staying in character, Stiger waved back at them.

  “Have the men eaten?”

  “Yes, sir,” Pixus said, “I saw to it that they did. Canteens have been filled as well. We are ready to march.”

  “Excellent,” Stiger said.

  “Is he going to make it?” Sabinus asked of Theo, clearly noticing how the dwarf swayed dangerously in the saddle with every step his pony took. Theo passed them by in a not-so-straight course as he followed in the direction of the thane. He shot Stiger another dark look with bleary eyes.

  “I would hazard eventually,” Stiger said, “and if not now, later, when he sobers up.”

  A shout rang out ahead, followed by a clatter, and then the dwarven column began to move forward, unit and clan standards fluttering in the breeze at the head of their column. A moment later, the dwarves broke into a rousing marching song as they stepped off and began moving down the road.

  “Shall I give the order, sir?” Pixus asked. The centurion had not brought a horse, and it was clear he would march with his men.

  “Let’s allow the dwarves to get some ways ahead,” Stiger said. “Their legs are shorter than ours, and judging by their pace, they are accustomed to moving slower than we are.”

  “Very good, sir,” Pixus said. “I will give the order to move out when they are a sufficient distance ahead of us.”

  “Perfect.”

  Stiger’s attention was drawn to Father Thomas, who had dismounted and was speaking to a man and woman just a few feet away. Curious, he moved his horse over to the paladin. The woman was holding a baby in her arms. Wrapped in a coarse brown blanket, the child, who could not have been more than a few days old, looked pale and sickly. The infant’s lips were a bluish color.

  The mother and father were clearly distressed. Stiger read a hopelessness mixed with terrible pain and suffering in their eyes. It was nothing he had not seen before, but it still pulled on the strings to his heart.

  “May I hold your baby?” Father Thomas asked gently.

  “Yes, Father,” the woman said. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Sniffling miserably, she handed the baby over, hesitating at the last moment. It was as if she was afraid it would be the last time she held the child in this world. “He just won’t feed, Father.”

  “We’ve not had a priest about these parts for a long time,” the man, clearly her husband, said. “It was a miracle to find you passing through here.”

  Father Thomas cradled the baby and nodded absently. Opening the blanket, he was silent as he made his examination. The baby hardly moved as he poked and prodded it. The child seemed to struggle for every breath with a low rasping sound that was quite pitiful. It was as if the baby was about to give up on life, which Stiger supposed it was. The paladin wrapped the blanket around the baby and laid the back of his hand on the child’s forehead before looking back up.

  “What is the child’s name?”

  “Fin,” the father said. “He is our third boy. Each died in infancy. We are hoping you can offer the child a blessing and the last rite. I . . .” The father’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I fear he won’t last much longer.”

  The child’s mother broke down, covering her face, shoulders shaking. Her husband looked over at her, clearly hurting. He reached out an arm and drew her close. She turned into his chest, sobbing loudly. Stiger felt incredibly moved by the scene and at the same time helpless. Life could be hard. Fortuna was a fickle mistress. His own mother had lost a child due to sickness.

  “I will offer a blessing,” Father Thomas said, placing his hand to the child’s forehead, “but I will not yet perform the last rite.”

  “Father,” the man said, “please. I beg you. Give us this small comfort, before he passes over into the lord’s keeping.”

  Instead of replying, Father Thomas closed his eyes, lips moving in silent prayer. Stiger watched and could almost feel the divine power welling within Father Thomas. It made the small hairs on his arms stand up as he realized he was looking upon a true wonder in the making. The paladin was channeling the High Father’s divine power, he was sure of it. Stiger had only seen such a thing happen a handful of times before, and it never ceased to amaze him. But what was more shocking was that he could feel the paladin’s power.

  The baby’s gray skin slowly gave way to a healthy, pale-reddish hue. As if ink on parchment in the rain, the blue seemed to run from Fin’
s lips. A couple of heartbeats later, the baby gave off a loud, hungry cry, and with that Father Thomas opened his eyes. Stiger was surprised to see tears there. The paladin smiled down at the healthy-looking child in his arms and rocked the boy a moment.

  “A miracle.” The child’s father fell to his knees and clasped his hands together, praying loudly. The mother wept uncontrollably, this time with joy, as Father Thomas gingerly handed Fin back to her.

  “The High Father has passed along a blessing of healing,” Father Thomas said, a weary edge to his voice. The effort had clearly taken a toll. There was an ashen look to his cheeks and his fiery red hair seemed not as bright. “He rewards your faith, mother. I ask humbly that you continue your devotion and raise your child to love our god, for he is special in the High Father’s eyes, as are we all.”

  “Thank you, Father,” the mother said, almost crushing the baby to her chest and rocking him slightly. “Thank you, oh, thank you.”

  Father Thomas reached out a hand and touched her cheek, smiling softly. “Your gratitude should go to the High Father. I am but his humble servant.”

  “It will,” she said, giving her baby a kiss. “I will thank the High Father for the rest of my days for his blessing and raise my boy to love our lord.”

  With that, Father Thomas turned away and mounted his horse. The smile slipped from his face and was replaced by an expression of near exhaustion. His shoulders slumped slightly as he sat there silently, simply breathing in and out. Then the paladin shook himself and looked around. He saw Stiger walking his horse over and gave a slight smile.

  “The High Father’s will has been done,” the paladin said simply and glanced back on the family. “They will know a happiness today that I pray they will not soon forget.”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, eyes still resting on the small family. The husband and wife were hugging. They were all crying, even the baby. “The great god rendered a kindness to them.”