The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “I will be along shortly, sir,” Sabinus said, making long brushstrokes along his horse’s back, all in the same direction. “I’m almost done here.”

  Throwing the saddlebags over a shoulder and tucking his blanket under an arm, Stiger made his way out of the stables and crossed the Kelvin road to where they would be camping. One of the magical lanterns hung overhead, bathing this stretch of tunnel in a pale-yellow light that never flickered.

  There was a small pull-off just beyond the stables, where the supply wagons had been parked. The teams of ponies had been unhitched and moved to the stables to enjoy a night of well-earned rest. Theo’s pony was the only animal not in the stables. Its reins were tied to a wheel of one of the wagons. Stiger shook his head and continued on.

  A simple green door granted access to the campsite. The paint on the wooden frame was faded and in places peeling. The door, standing open, had seen better days. It was warped slightly at the bottom and did not completely close. A team of dwarves was busily unloading burlap bags and casks from the wagons. They were carrying them from the pull-off across the road into the campsite, which was essentially a smaller, untended version of the hostel. Stiger stepped aside to permit one the dwarves, carrying a large and seemingly heavy sack, to pass him by.

  Two legionaries stood to either side of the entrance. Against Taithun’s protests that they weren’t needed, Pixus had stationed his men there anyway. The legion had certain rules that had been proven out over a very long time, and by posting sentries, the centurion was adhering to them. Stiger approved of the centurion’s diligence, even down here in the dwarven realm, where it was safe. As Stiger made his way past them and inside, both sentries snapped to attention and saluted.

  Brogan called this camping. It wasn’t. The small complex consisted of three floors. Each floor contained one large, open communal room, with four fireplaces spaced evenly about. There were a few smaller rooms on the main floor, including what looked like a kitchen with an oven. The dwarves had taken the first floor. Brogan had assigned the legionaries the second for the night.

  Stiger found Theo, standing just inside the entrance, watching the tumult. The dwarf was absently playing with his beard as he watched his fellows preparing the large room on the main floor, making it habitable. Dust was heavy on the air, a result of some vigorous sweeping. It was clear the entire complex had not been used in many years.

  The fireplaces, each along a wall, had been lit, spreading their light and heat. So far underground, Stiger could not at first understand where they had gotten the firewood. Then he saw dwarves and legionaries emerging from a side room, well-seasoned wood in their arms. Clearly someone long ago had set in a supply.

  “A quaint setting,” Theo said, glancing over at him. “Don’t you think?”

  Theo looked more presentable than when Stiger had seen him last, earlier that morning at the Stonehammer. His beard was neatly braided, but his armor was once again dusty, likely from the ride. He had clearly just arrived, several hours after when he had suggested he would catch up with them.

  “Better than sleeping on the road, I suppose,” Stiger said.

  “You can say that again,” Theo said and then nodded toward the thane, who was seated before a fire and enjoying a drink with Jorthan. “It appears I got here just in time. The work’s almost done.”

  “It seems that way,” Stiger said. “I’m surprised you’re not already in there, drinking up the thane’s supply of spirits.”

  Theo turned slightly to better see Stiger’s face.

  “You disapprove?” the dwarf asked after a moment.

  “You may wish to moderate your consumption a tad,” Stiger suggested.

  “How can you say that? I am the soul of moderation,” Theo said, with a glance back toward the thane.

  “Of course, you are,” Stiger said.

  “You and Sabinus set me on that path,” Theo said with a straight face and then gave a heavy sigh. “Look here. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. It wouldn’t be bad if we were traveling through settled lands. Unfortunately for us, Garand Kos lies in lands we long since moved away from, which means no resupply of drink until we return to Old City. The thane’s supply of spirits won’t last beyond the summit, as there is bound to be a feast of some kind.”

  “Better to get what you can now?” Stiger asked. “Is that it?”

  Theo shot him an exaggerated look that reeked of hurt, as if Stiger had injured the dwarf’s sense of pride.

  “Right.” Stiger started up the stairs. “I will see you tomorrow, Theo.”

  “That’s Theogdin.”

  “It’s Theo,” Stiger called back over his shoulder.

  Stiger climbed the stairs to the first landing, where the communal washroom was located. It had running water and, more importantly, a latrine. There were seats where one sat to defecate or urinate into a channel several feet below. Fast-moving water flowed through the bottom of the latrine, carrying waste away. It meant the sound of running water was a constant. The room also smelled of mold. Back home Stiger had seen similar facilities in imperial cities, so it was not a surprise the dwarves had something similar.

  He stepped inside. An oil lantern had been set on a small ledge above the door. It provided the room with some weak light. Along one wall, water flowed out of two holes at chest level and cascaded down into a large basin with several drain holes at the bottom.

  He put his hands into one of the streams. The water was ice cold. He washed his hands, then splashed some on his face and cleaned away whatever dust had accumulated from the ride. The bitingly cold water felt good, but at the same time, it made his hands ache.

  Stiger stretched out his back. It had been a good long while since he had spent so much time in the saddle. His butt and legs ached. He was looking forward to lying down, pulling his blanket up, and catching some shuteye. But, there was still work to be done. His armor was very dusty and required a cleaning. He was also sorely in need of a thorough washing himself. He would attend to both later, before turning in for the night.

  He left the washroom and made his way up the stairs to the second floor, arriving to a frenzy of activity similar to what he had witnessed below. He glanced around at the large room the dwarves had assigned them. It was essentially box-shaped, fifty yards wide and another fifty long. A series of plain, rounded stone columns as thick as a man supported the ceiling.

  Three of the four fireplaces in the room had been started. There was nothing ornate about them. They were purely functional, as was the room. Two legionaries were working on the fourth fireplace.

  A team of legionaries was busy carrying enough firewood up their stairs to keep the fires fed throughout the night. They were stacking the excess wood next to each fireplace. Pixus and Mectillius stood in the center of the chaos, orchestrating the men. They appeared to have things well in hand.

  Already the large room was warming. The firelight gave it a cheery glow and fought back against the pervasive gloom of the underground. Pixus had found three old brooms and put a detail to work sweeping up the thick coating of dust that lay on everything. They were almost finished. Dust hung heavy in the air, a natural result of their efforts. It tickled at Stiger’s nose and he found himself resisting a sneeze.

  Stiger made his way over to the nearest fire, where several sturdy-looking stools sat. Dropping his saddlebags and rolled-up blanket on the floor, he cleaned off one of the ancient-looking wooden stools with a hand and eased himself down onto it. Clearly made for a dwarf’s width, the stool creaked but took his weight. He leaned forward and held out his hands to catch some of the warmth from the growing fire. They still ached from the cold water and air. Relishing the feeling of the heat, he stifled a yawn.

  “Might I join you?”

  Stiger looked up to find Father Thomas. The paladin grabbed a stool, brushed off the dust, pulled it over to Stiger, and sat down.

  “Suit yourself,” Stiger said.

  “I have, haven’t I.” Father Thomas ga
ve a good-natured laugh. “One of the perks of my station. I answer only to the High Father.”

  “I can see the advantage to that.” Stiger glanced over at Father Thomas and shot him a wry look. “However, I have found he is a demanding master.”

  “A loving one, too,” Father Thomas said. “Never forget that. You have been blessed with an extraordinary life.”

  Stiger eyed Father Thomas. With Sarai, he had gotten a glimpse of what an ordinary life was like, and it did not seem that bad. It had been quite good with her. He turned back to the fire, wishing he had some tobacco, for a pipe sounded good right about now too.

  “A long ride today,” Father Thomas said, kicking his feet out onto another stool. “Ah . . . now that feels good, very good.”

  “We’ve come a long way,” Stiger said. “You could say all the way back to the past.”

  Running a hand through his red hair, Father Thomas laughed, drawing a curious look or two from the nearest legionaries.

  “That we have,” the paladin said, “and I’m afraid we’ve got farther to go.”

  Dog came over, seating himself between Stiger and the paladin. He laid his shaggy head on Stiger’s thigh and looked up imploringly. Reaching over, Stiger absently started scratching the dog’s neck. Almost immediately, Dog’s back right leg began to work, as if he were scratching himself.

  Stiger noted Father Thomas’s gaze swing toward the animal. The paladin regarded Dog for several heartbeats, an inscrutable expression crossing his face. Father Thomas chewed on his lip as he turned back to the growing fire.

  “He’s special,” Stiger said to the paladin, “isn’t he?”

  “Special does not begin to adequately describe what he is,” Father Thomas said, without turning away from the fire. “My connection to the High Father allowed me to recognize his nature the moment I saw him.”

  Stiger paused in his scratching. “And you said nothing?”

  “Sometimes it is better to learn for yourself that something is special,” Father Thomas said, “rather than being told from the start. It allows one to better appreciate it.”

  Stiger was not pleased with the answer, but he understood the paladin’s meaning.

  “Tell me about him,” Stiger said

  “What do you want to know?” Father Thomas’s tone grew weary.

  “Why would Mars send me a dog?”

  “How do you know it was Mars?” Father Thomas looked over, suddenly very interested.

  “I don’t know that for sure,” Stiger admitted, with a glance down at the dog. “Jorthan told me of a dwarven paladin named Survil. Apparently, Mars sent Survil a dog for a companion.”

  “I’ve read of his life and, yes, he did have a dog that was very special, somewhat like yours.” Father Thomas nodded and then closed his eyes. The paladin breathed in slowly and let it out. He continued to do so, almost as if he had fallen asleep. Stiger waited, understanding that Father Thomas was searching his feelings. It was something he had seen before with Father Thomas and another paladin, Father Griggs.

  When the paladin finally opened his eyes, he took a deeper breath and then let it out. “It is possible Mars dispatched him . . . though, I cannot be certain which god lent you such a powerful servant.” Father Thomas jabbed a thumb at Dog. “He is a naverum, one of the guardians of Olimbus. They serve all of the gods and at the same time none.”

  “Olimbus is where the gods reside,” Stiger said, leaning back on his stool and glancing down at Dog. “He guards the heavens?”

  “That is what we are taught in the holy texts.” Father Thomas nodded, his gaze returning to the dog. “I am aware of only a few accounts concerning the naverum. Survil’s is one. Naverum typically only appear during times of crisis and great need. It is thought that, in a way, naverum are their own agents, working independently for some common purpose. What that purpose is,” Father Thomas held out his hands palms up, “I unfortunately can’t tell you, as I don’t know. Having a naverum as a companion is considered a great blessing. However, throughout all of the accounts, one thing always remains constant. Whenever naverum appear, they have always attached themselves to a paladin.”

  Stiger looked up and their eyes met. “I am no paladin.”

  “No,” Father Thomas agreed. “You are not. You are something else.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I shouldn’t have to remind you of something you already know,” Father’s Thomas said, an amused smile playing across his face.

  Stiger looked at the paladin and raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

  “You are the High Father’s champion, of course,” Father Thomas said.

  Stiger felt himself frown at the paladin, the scar on his cheek pulling the skin taught.

  Dog gave a soft whine and nudged Stiger’s hand. Stiger absently began scratching again. He studied the animal resting its head on his leg. He couldn’t believe that such a sad-looking creature could be what Father Thomas said. He rubbed his jaw with his free hand, feeling the day’s growth. No matter what he looked like, Dog was certainly special. Of that, he was sure. Somehow, he sensed it as such.

  “I wonder . . .” Stiger said to himself, gaze shooting to Father Thomas. Very much like Father Griggs, Thomas consulted his feelings on a regular basis in the search for answers. Stiger recalled what Marcus had done in the Gate room, looking inward to sense outward. The dwarves had named him Rock Friend after that . . .

  It was something Eli had attempted to teach, but Stiger had never fully succeeded at. Perhaps he, too, could seek answers? He had not tried since he had lived with the elves. He was becoming more attuned to things like Dog’s nature and Rarokan’s presence. Was it possible that he might now be able to succeed?

  “If one listens close enough,” Eli had once told him, “you may hear answers to hard questions.”

  Eli had been speaking about talking to the forest. Stiger’s gaze traveled back to the paladin. He figured it was worth a try.

  Closing his eyes, he focused on centering his being. He used the technique that Eli had taught him and quieted his mind. When he was in this calm state, he had been trained to listen to his surroundings—the forest, the wind, the animals—searching for anything out of the ordinary. It was a basic skill that all rangers learned and, according to Eli, led to the next level of understanding.

  To his elven friend’s chagrin, Stiger had never been able to achieve that next level of skill necessary in the elven mind to become a full-fledged ranger. It was supposedly how they became one with the forest and gained a better understanding of the nature of things. This time, however, he was going to attempt something slightly different from what his friend had tried in vain to teach him. Stiger wasn’t even sure it would work.

  Breathing steadily, he worked to calm his mind, to put all concerns from his thoughts. Stiger felt his aches and pains from the day’s ride fade. Ignoring the noise around him, he reached deep within himself and continued.

  Stiger lost track of time. The noise around him receded; the talking steadily faded. He cast his mind adrift in the void, like pushing off from shore in a boat.

  He sensed something . . . the familiar touch of Rarokan’s mind. It was close at hand, the sword’s presence and its attention partly focused on the conversation Stiger had been having with the paladin. The rest of Rarokan seemed shrouded in a deep fog, almost as if asleep. For a moment, it startled him that he could sense it so clearly. So much so, he almost lost the calm feeling keeping him centered. With some effort, he pushed past Rarokan and continued his search for the truth he sought, casting his mind farther outward. He had never before attempted something like this, but somehow it seemed like the right thing to do—to search one’s feelings, something beyond a simple gut check.

  At first, there was nothing . . . then he felt more. It was almost akin to a burning light amongst the vast darkness of the void. Again, without fully understanding, the light in the darkness became Dog’s presence, or perhaps it was the animal’s soul
he was truly feeling. He studied it.

  The light seemed to become aware of him. A tentacle of incredible brightness reached out towards him. It connected with his own being. For a moment, he sensed a mind of staggering intellect, clearly beyond his comprehension. Stiger shuddered in fear.

  The tentacle of brightness flashed like a lightning bolt striking a tree. There was a resounding crack. It was a clear warning.

  STOP! he heard in his mind.

  So powerful was it that Stiger jumped, almost falling off his stool. His eyes flew open in shock. His breathing came hard and fast, as if he had held his breath for an extended period of time. His forehead was wet. Stiger reached up and wiped at his brow. It was coated in sweat. In fact, his entire body was drenched. A terrible tiredness tugged at him.

  Blinking, he looked down at Dog and found the animal gazing back up at him with those same brown, watery eyes. There was a powerful intelligence there, and Stiger knew without a doubt this creature was somehow divine in nature. There was simply no denying it. Dog was indeed special, and he was no servant of Stiger’s.

  “You sensed truth,” Father Thomas said softly, with a sad undertone. “He is indeed naverum. I am certain you know that without a doubt now. I would in the future recommend against doing what you just did. It is dangerous, and your mind has not been trained to handle what you will encounter in the Void.”

  Speechless, Stiger just looked back at Father Thomas, unsure what to do or how to respond.

  “One might say you are cursed with Rarokan,” Father Thomas said, “but you have been equally blessed with a naverum. I almost wonder if each balances out the other?”

  “Cursed and blessed.” Stiger swallowed. “Is this my fate? Is this what a destiny is?”

  “You have powerful weapons and allies at your side for whatever is coming. That much is certain.”

  Stiger reached down and touched the hilt of his sword. The familiar electric tingle ran through his hand and up his arm, into his being. It was comforting yet frightening, for the sword meant to dominate him. The room, lit only by firelight, appeared to brighten considerably, and the tiredness he felt moments before eased a bit. At the same time, he placed his other hand upon Dog’s head.