The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Very rousing speech,” Theo said, coming up to Stiger. “I am deeply impressed. Who knew you could speak more than a half dozen words at a time, eh?”

  Stiger chuckled. “Started drinking already?”

  “No.” The dwarf frowned. “I’ve not had a drop since I got up, just some water. Why do you ask?”

  “You fairly reek of drink,” Stiger said. “And to be completely honest, you look terrible.”

  Theo glanced down at himself. “All because I did not clean my armor? I think it looks all right.” He brushed at a spot of dirt on his chest plate. “Maybe it needs a bit of a wipe down, but not much.”

  “I am not talking about that,” Stiger said, though now that Theo had mentioned it, the dwarf’s armor was in a sad state. It looked nothing like the thane’s personal guard, who were well turned out and appeared quite sharp.

  “Then what?” Theo looked exasperated.

  “Your eyes are bloodshot,” Stiger said, “your hair isn’t combed, and there are several ties missing from your beard. You stink a bit, too, and not just from drink. You look like you woke up in the stable with the animals.”

  “Oh, that.” Theo reached up and touched the parts of his beard that were unbraided. “It is possible I consumed a little too much. Besides, Brogan and I made a late night of it, telling stories, swapping tales and such. My cousin can be engaging when he desires.”

  Stiger shared a glance with Sabinus, who rolled his eyes.

  “Are you serious?” Theo protested, looking between the two of them, aghast. “The thane’s buying. Granted, Brogan holds his drink better than I, but I’d be foolish to pass up such an opportunity when it’s free.”

  “Clearly you’ve never heard of the concept of moderation,” Sabinus said, stifling a laugh. “Tell us the truth now, have you?”

  “Where is the fun in that?” Theo said. “It’s a good way to drown your miseries when you want to. Surely you legionaries drink?”

  “Oh, we do,” Sabinus said, “and on occasion very heavily and even to excess.”

  “Well then, what is the problem?” Theo asked, appearing to be thoroughly mystified.

  “We typically don’t overdo it before a long march,” Sabinus said, “like you have.”

  “Or drink overly much while on one,” Stiger said, piling on. “Such behavior makes the day only that much longer and more difficult.”

  “I am on detached duty,” Theo said. “Captain Aleric made me nothing more than a glorified hand-holder to keep you out of trouble with Brogan. Which, I think, I am managing quite well, thank you.”

  “You are?” Stiger scoffed. “How?”

  “By keeping my cousin entertained,” Theo said. “I thought that would be obvious.”

  “Right,” Stiger said, far from convinced.

  A shout from farther down the tunnel saw the dwarven contingent begin the day’s march, the front of the column moving before the tail like an accordion. The walls began to echo with the crunching of many footsteps. They turned to watch Brogan’s escort move out.

  Brogan and Jorthan rode at the front of the column, just ahead of the standard-bearer. Riding by the skylight-turned-waterfall, the light from above fell on the thane. He looked impressive in his armor and purple cloak. The color seemed to drain away from his cloak the farther Brogan rode from the light until it looked black. The dim light in the tunnels seemed to leach all color.

  “Don’t they just look superb?” Theo said in a flat tone.

  “They do,” Sabinus said. “The thane has a fine guard. That much is clear.”

  “All shiny and perfect.” Theo’s tone was laced with a deep disgust. “I thought Aleric’s company was bad, second rate even. My captain likes to have us polish, too.” Theo pointed at Brogan’s escorts. “Not to their standards, but at least the stuffy bastard’s main focus was on fighting. You can say much about my captain and his many flaws.” Theo wagged a finger at Stiger and Sabinus. “One thing you can’t claim is that Aleric has neglected his duty by failing to drill his dvergr to fight. Next to maintaining kit, he’s all about drill, training, and hard, backbreaking work. Aleric’s kind of fanatical about it, now that I think on it. It is one of the reasons I don’t like him much, either.”

  Stiger looked over at Theo with more than a little concern. He turned his gaze back to the marching dwarves, wondering if what his friend said was true. Surely not.

  “They can’t fight?” Sabinus asked the question on Stiger’s mind.

  “Oh, I am sure they can fight,” Theo said. “You can’t get into the thane’s personal guard unless you are a veteran who has seen some action.”

  “So,” Sabinus said, seeming confused, “I don’t understand, then?”

  Theo gave a great sigh.

  “The last time any of them lovely bastards saw action was at least twenty years ago.” Theo’s hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword as he regarded his fellow dwarves. “The most they’ve had to do is guard against unruly dinner guests and look smart on parade or for show at the thane’s palace. They’re damn fine at it, too.”

  Stiger ran his eyes over the thane’s escort again, this time with fresh eyes. It was not what he wanted to hear. He had expected deadly competence, but now he was not so certain.

  “And the thane knows this?” Sabinus asked.

  “He hasn’t seen any action since that time either, a minor uprising of the lesser races, goblins and such filth,” Theo said. “No, Brogan is quite ignorant of his guard’s shortcomings. You see, he has complete confidence in Captain Taithun, a combat-hardened veteran of advanced age. The sad truth of it is both are living on memories of who they were, not who they currently are. I fear the same goes for Taithun’s company as a whole. They think they are better than anyone else because they polish their armor better.”

  “This is not a joke?” Stiger asked, hoping Theo was playing with him. “Tell me honestly now.”

  “Sadly, no. Look at that fine bastard.” Theo gestured to Captain Taithun marching to the side of the column. “Looks beautiful as a peacock, strutting his stuff before the girls . . . only there are none of the fairer sex about, just his warriors. I think he shines his armor to perfection for self-satisfaction alone.”

  Taithun was large for a dwarf and wore the thane’s colors with obvious pride. He walked with a slight limp and his beard seemed grayer than the others, almost wholly white. In the gloom of the tunnel the beard seemed to glow. Stiger read confidence in his manner as he marched with his men.

  “He’s a doddering old fool,” Theo said, an underlying note of disgust creeping back into his voice. “He, like his thane, lives in the past. Taithun carries his legend on his sleeve, very prim and proper.” Theo spared Stiger an unhappy look. “He does not like heavy drinking either.”

  “At least that’s something,” Sabinus said.

  “Last night, Brogan asked me if I wanted to join Taithun’s company.” Theo stomped a boot on the ground. “Can you believe it? Me?”

  “What did you tell him?” Sabinus asked, raising an eyebrow. “I hope it was a yes.”

  “I told him no,” Theo said plainly. “I’m staying with Aleric.”

  “You’d pass up all that free drink?” Sabinus asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Bah.” Theo waved a hand. “I’d have to spend hours shining and polishing my kit! Then they’d have me stand around all pretty-like for hours on end.”

  “I can see the trade off and it doesn’t sound all that bad for you,” Sabinus said. “Drink for looking somewhat presentable and not being required to work all that hard. A cushy assignment like that and you passed it up?”

  Theo turned his gaze upon Sabinus, his eyes narrowing.

  “You really hate me, don’t you?” Theo asked Sabinus.

  “What?” Sabinus asked, shooting Stiger a look of question, clearly confused.

  Theo ignored the look and jerked a thumb at Stiger. “If this brooding fool is half correct, the talks with the orcs are a waste of
time, and in the end it will all come down to a big fight. Do you really think I’d rather be in Taithun’s company? Trust my life to a crusty old beard who’s not had a serious drilling or thought in his head in who knows how long? No thank you.”

  “All this time,” Stiger said, unhappy thoughts on Brogan’s escort as he turned to Theo, “I’ve thought you a complete slacker.”

  “You got that part right,” Theo said with conviction, “but when it matters, no one will see me shirk from a good fight. No one!”

  “I never expected you would,” Stiger said and meant it. Theo had already shown his bravery during the fight at the pond.

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” Theo said, suddenly. “While breakfasting with Brogan, he asked if you would ride with him this morning.”

  “You didn’t think to pass that along sooner?” Stiger demanded, alarmed to think he might have inadvertently offended the thane. Most of the dwarven column was already lost to view, having moved out and into the tunnel that was the Kelvin Road. “Perhaps it would have been best to tell me before the march began?”

  “It kind of slipped my mind,” Theo said, without any hint of embarrassment. His hand ran through his beard again. He yawned. “Well, I think I might take your advice and clean up a bit before setting out. If the thane asks for me, tell him I should be along sometime around noon.”

  “I will try to remember,” Stiger said. “That is, if he asks.”

  “Great,” Theo said enthusiastically and started off for the entrance to the Stonehammer. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Stiger shook his head, thoroughly irritated at Theo.

  “I had best catch up with the thane.” He looked over at Sabinus. “If you have need of me, you know where I am.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sabinus said. “Sir, do you think Taithun’s dwarves can fight?”

  “I don’t know.” Stiger paused, a hand on Misty’s saddle. “I don’t like it. If it goes sideways at the summit, and Taithun’s dwarves crumble, we may be on our own.”

  “I wish we had brought more men,” Sabinus said.

  “Wishing is one thing,” Stiger said. “Making do with what you have is another.”

  Stiger pulled himself up and into the saddle. He glanced around at his surroundings and spotted Dog, sitting by the double-doored entrance to the Stonehammer and watching all of the activity. The old dwarf who had fed him stood by his side, idly scratching Dog’s head.

  Father Thomas, wearing a priestly robe, stepped out of the hostel, making sure to close the door behind him to keep the heat in. He spoke a word to the dwarf and started off for the stables, passing another team of oxen that was being led out. The stable hands had to wait for the last of the thane’s escort to pass them by, along with the three supply wagons that had arrived sometime in the night. These rattled and clattered their way after the last of the dwarves.

  “Forward march,” Pixus called, pointing with his vine cane. The century stepped off after the dwarves.

  “Dog, come,” Stiger called as he nudged Misty forward into a trot and quickly passed the men by. With a bark, Dog bounded after him.

  Stiger was thoroughly irritated at Theo. The last thing he needed was to insult the thane further, especially considering they had got on cordially since the tavern in Bridgetown. The thane had even asked Stiger to sit on his right side during the feast last evening, which Father Thomas had explained was an honor in dwarven culture.

  The feast had been a pleasant enough affair, though the food was bland and lacking in taste. Most of what had been served consisted of roast meat and potatoes. The meat had been slightly overcooked for Stiger’s tastes. The drink, on the other hand—of which there had been beer, wine, and spirits—was exceptional. Stiger had partaken of the wine and enjoyed it very much.

  Still, all things considered, Stiger was grateful to Theo for the warning he had passed along. He now knew the thane’s escort was of questionable quality. If it came to trouble, Stiger could only be sure of Fifth Century. At least he hoped he could. He had not seen them drill or fight, either. However, he had confidence in Pixus as a leader, and the men appeared steady enough.

  Stiger gave Pixus a nod as he rode by.

  “Make sure you speak with Sabinus about the thane’s escort,” Stiger told him.

  “I will, sir.”

  “We will speak on it later,” Stiger said and then he was past.

  He turned Misty into the side tunnel, now their main route to Garand Kos. Having caught up to the tail end of the dwarven column, Stiger saw that the road ahead was lit with lanterns hung from the ceiling every hundred yards. The lanterns provided just enough light to make the way visible. However, it was fairly dark between lanterns, giving the road an ominous look.

  As he continued past the escort, which stretched at least two hundred yards from front to tail, Stiger idly wondered who was responsible for the lighting of the lanterns and the refilling of oil. It was surely a serious undertaking.

  The dwarves and humans had been issued several dozen lanterns of their own, along with flasks of oil, to help supplement the light when needed. As Stiger came upon the first ceiling lantern, he was astounded to see it was magic, a ball of light unnaturally suspended within a glass case. He’d seen such devices before, but the tunnel seemed to go on and on, disappearing into the gloom of distance. The expense to light it must’ve been incredible, for true magical items were rare wonders and therefore, in Stiger’s experience, priceless.

  As Stiger rode along, steadily overtaking the dwarven column, he noticed the left wall of the tunnel was wet, glistening in the magical light. The wet patch lasted for twenty yards. Water ran onto the stones, which had sagged a little, allowing a puddle to form. Misty splashed through it, the dwarves on his right marching in and out of the puddle without a concern. The temperature was very cold, causing breath to steam slightly. The dwarves, like the legionaries of Fifth Century, wore sandals instead of boots. Stiger could only imagine how frigid the water was.

  The Kelvin Road’s tunnel was smaller than the one that they had taken to the Stonehammer, and yet it was at least twenty-five feet from wall to wall, more than enough for two wagons to pass one another. The walls curved outward from the ground. The ceiling of the tunnel was rounded, with stone support arches spaced every ten feet. There were numerous places where either the ceiling or wall had been patched in repair, ranging from small fixes to work that had clearly involved entire sections of wall or ceiling.

  The road itself was smooth stone paving. The roadway was shaped in such a manner that it was sloped, with the center being slightly raised and higher than the edges, though there were places it had begun to sag. The stones had been placed with precision so that they appeared almost seamless under the dim light.

  The engineering feat of constructing such a tunnel—or really, as the dwarves called it, a road—was remarkable. Stiger had no idea how long it would’ve taken to make this underground way, but figured it must have been centuries.

  The dwarves looked at him curiously as he made his way past. Stiger’s eyes stole over them, noting their neat, snappy appearance and their age. All were older. With Theo’s warning fresh to mind, he could not help but feel deeply concerned. It was something he knew he could not bring up with Brogan. To do so would surely insult the thane.

  He increased Misty’s pace, quickly trotting up to the front of the column, where he found the thane riding with Jorthan. The thane turned in his saddle and raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

  “Good morning, Thane,” Stiger greeted, nodding his head respectfully.

  “And to you as well, Legate,” Brogan replied as Stiger slowed his horse to ride alongside him.

  “Thank you for inviting me to ride with you,” Stiger said.

  “I thought it might be good for us to share the miles and,” the thane said and looked over, the reins of his pony held lightly in his right hand, “get to know one another better.”

  “I very much appreciate that opportunity.�
�� Stiger turned his gaze to the thane’s advisor. “Jorthan, a good morning to you as well.”

  “Thank you, Legate,” Jorthan said. “Your salutations are most welcome. We have an open road before us and it is a fine day for a ride.”

  “How far does this tunnel go?” Stiger asked.

  “The Kelvin Road,” Brogan replied, “travels for thirty-five miles. There are several other smaller roads that branch off this one, before it terminates at a place called Garand Toll. We will be taking one of the branch roads to Garand Kos, say around twenty miles from this spot.”

  “Thirty-five miles?” Stiger asked. “And the road is this size the entire way?”

  “Yes,” the thane said, rather proudly. “Kelvin is a main artery. For many centuries prior to the gradual emptying of Garand Thoss, it was a key trade route to the south. One could almost say Garand Thoss became wealthy off this road.”

  “A remarkable achievement, for sure,” Stiger said. “Are there many more like it? Main arteries, as you call them?”

  “Yes,” the thane said, “and even grander than this one. Sadly, what with my people leaving this region for better lands deeper into the mountains, these days the Kelvin is a road infrequently used. It does not see the regular maintenance it so deserves.” The thane pointed at a rockfall to the side, where a number of the ceiling tiles had fallen. Someone had pushed the debris off and out of the way. “I see the day approaching when this fine road shall deteriorate to the point where it is either impassable or unsafe to use. Such is the way with change.”

  As if to underscore Brogan’s point, Stiger’s horse splashed through another puddle, this one smaller than the last. Several ice-cold drops of water splashed down upon him from above. He glanced up and thought he heard the sound of running water over the loud echoes of boots and the clopping of horses on stone.

  “Is that water I hear?” Stiger asked, looking over at the thane. “It almost sounds as if we are riding under a river.”

  “You do hear water,” Brogan answered. He pointed towards the ground as they continued to ride. “The water is not above us, but below. There is an extensive runoff system beneath this road. It is what keeps the Kelvin mostly dry and this tunnel from flooding with groundwater.”