The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “My Thane.” Jorthan cleared his throat and shot a warning glance over at Stiger. “Perhaps we should get settled in the city below.”

  The thane looked over at Jorthan and scowled. He looked behind them at the front of the column, his dwarves waiting patiently. “You are right. No sense in remaining here, even if our pioneers are late.”

  “We will need to clear this road for the wagons,” Taithun said, glancing down the hill. “It is much overgrown. Either that, or we must carry our supplies down.”

  “We can leave a party to deal with the road,” Brogan said. “Fifty of your dvergr should make quick work of it. I want to get down into the city well before Therik arrives.”

  “Yes, My Thane.” Taithun bowed his head respectfully. “I assume you will be paying respects to your ancestors?”

  “I mean to visit the tomb of my grandparents,” Brogan said, “if that is what you mean.”

  “Very good, My Thane. I shall detail an honor guard for you,” Taithun said. “Will you be going now or after your talks with the orc king?”

  “Before, I think,” Brogan said. “There may be little time after.”

  Stiger approved of the thane paying his respects to those who came before. Honoring one’s ancestors was important. Stiger had been raised in such a manner and had regularly made devotional visits to the family’s ancestor room. In this room important items were kept, including the wax death masks of his forebears, at least those who had served the empire with exceptional distinction. Growing up with it all, including the antique armor, swords, and shields . . . tokens of those long-dead souls had served as motivation to the young Stiger to serve as faithfully as those who had come before him. It had lit a fire in his own soul and distilled in him a need to serve the empire he loved.

  Two dwarves emerged from the brush ahead, as if materializing from thin air. These were likely the pioneers Jorthan had mentioned. Unlike Taithun’s warriors, the pioneers wore brown boots and soft leather armor over simple tunics. No clan colors were present in their dress. Stiger assumed this was to help them blend into the forest. Both were armed with swords. They fell to a knee before their thane and bowed their heads respectfully.

  Brogan regarded them silently for a long moment.

  “Rise and report.”

  “My Thane,” one of the dwarves said in dwarven, “the city is empty, occupied only by wildlife. We could find no sign of orcs either inside the city or outside within a range of twenty miles. There is a human village, thirty miles to the east, but we think they do not visit here often.”

  “And Therik?”

  “The orc king has not yet arrived.”

  “Have you located his party?”

  “We have, My Thane,” the dwarf said. “We are shadowing their approach. He should arrive sometime this afternoon. He travels with twenty warriors and retainers. We believe them to be ignorant of our presence.”

  “Excellent,” Brogan said and clapped his hands together. He turned to Stiger and hesitated. “Legate Delvaris.” Brogan said the name as if using it was somehow distasteful. “May I introduce Hogan, captain of my pioneers.”

  The pioneer turned, eyeing Stiger as if sizing him up. Hogan had a tough, hardened look about him, and unlike the other dwarves, his skin was tanned and weathered from exposure. He had the appearance of having been outdoors much of his life. His beard was tied and woven neatly into a single braid, and his brown hair had been bleached a sandy blondish color by the sun. Hogan stepped forward and offered a hand, which Stiger took. Hogan’s grip was firm, but not crushing.

  “It is an honor to meet you,” Stiger said in dwarven.

  Hogan’s eyes widened slightly and then he smirked.

  “The honor is mine,” Hogan said, speaking in the old tongue, Lingua Romano. It was Stiger’s turn to be surprised. Hogan gave a slight shrug. “I acquire languages, as some people accumulate friends.”

  “He has no friends. Make sure you don’t take it personally, but he does not like anyone.” The other pioneer, also speaking in the old tongue, stepped forward. He offered his hand. “I am Lieutenant Merog.”

  Stiger shook, finding the grip also firm, confident.

  “He’s right, I don’t like anyone,” Hogan admitted and shot a sour glance over at Taithun. “Not even my own kin.”

  Taithun scowled, but said nothing.

  Merog shot a smirk at his captain. “He only tolerates me because I get him out of the hole he so often digs for himself.”

  “And because I forced him to take you on,” Brogan said. “You caused too much trouble for your family to allow you to remain at home. Your father begged me to take you into my service and make a true dvergr out of you.” Brogan gave an exaggerated sigh. “It must be a restless spirit that runs deep within your side of the family.”

  It was now the thane’s turn to receive an unfriendly look from Hogan.

  “It is, cousin,” Merog conceded with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He nudged Hogan with his elbow. “I have the bug of wanderlust, don’t I?”

  Hogan said nothing, almost as if the last were not directed at him.

  “I work each day on his social skills,” Merog said with a grin directed at his captain. “It may not seem so, but he has shown remarkable improvement. I really think that’s why the thane sent me to the pioneers.”

  Hogan went red in the face, but he still remained silent.

  “If you say so.” Brogan rolled his eyes.

  “My senior centurion, Sabinus,” Stiger said by way of introduction when Hogan and Merog’s attention returned to him.

  Hogan gave a nod, then offered his hand.

  “And Father Thomas, paladin to the High Father.”

  Hogan and Merog turned their gazes on Father Thomas. They bowed in an exceedingly respectful manner.

  “How excellent. We are now all acquainted,” Brogan said, sounding suddenly impatient. “Captain Taithun, as Jorthan so rightly suggested a short while ago, it is time to move down and into the city.”

  “Yes, My Thane,” Captain Taithun said and snapped out an order to those waiting just behind him. The dwarves immediately began marching out of the tunnel. Once they hit the overgrown road, they slowly began working their way down as best they could. The captain spun on his heel and walked back into the tunnel.

  Stiger watched the dwarves, thinking. His gaze slid over to the pioneers and then the forest below. He gestured for Sabinus to step aside with him.

  “I can’t quite believe we are here, sir,” Sabinus said. “I honestly never thought First City was real.”

  Stiger’s gaze slipped back to Brogan and his pioneers. The thane, Jorthan, and Father Thomas were speaking with them. Hogan turned and motioned back into the city, using both of his hands to point something out. Stiger’s gaze moved back to the city overrun by forest.

  “It apparently is,” Stiger said, returning his focus to Sabinus.

  “Do you think we might be able to search for the Ninth’s standard while here?” Sabinus said. “I’d love to see it.”

  “I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Stiger said. “If Karus left it here, he meant for it to remain here, otherwise he would have taken it with him.” Stiger paused. “We have to move beyond our reverence for this place.”

  “Sir?” Sabinus’s brow furrowed. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

  “Do you see any open ground down there within the city walls?” Stiger asked him. “Or, for that matter, anywhere?”

  Sabinus turned, scanning the city and then looking beyond it. “No, I do not. All I see are trees and ruins, sir.”

  The orcs had already proven that they could sneak by Captain Aleric’s dwarves. Though Stiger suspected that Brogan’s pioneers were skilled, he wasn’t about to take a chance they had done a shoddy job of scouting out the area. The pioneers certainly weren’t elven rangers, who could speak to the trees themselves. More importantly, Stiger wanted to impress this upon Sabinus. “There are trees everywhere. No matter what
Captain Hogan says, anyone with a bit of skill could sneak in.”

  The centurion turned his gaze back onto the city. He held it there for several long heartbeats, eyes raking the ruins and trees before looking back. Stiger could now read the concern in the other’s eyes. It was what he had wanted to elicit.

  “When Fifth Century comes up, the men will be just as amazed and awed as we are,” Stiger said. “We need to keep them focused, professional, and on the task at hand. They must remain diligent, for should the orcs mean us ill, any slacking could prove fatal.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sabinus said, sobering. “I will do what I can and, knowing Pixus, he will stay on his boys to keep their eyes sharp.”

  “The men have brought entrenching tools, correct?” Stiger knew that they had. He’d seen several men with picks, axes, and shovels attached to their marching yokes. He wanted to get Sabinus thinking defensively.

  “Yes, sir,” Sabinus said. “It’s part of their standard kit and something all centuries usually travel with.”

  “Well, then,” Stiger said, “when we get down into the city, you and Pixus find a good defensible spot.”

  “A fortified marching encampment, then?” Sabinus asked.

  “Exactly,” Stiger said. “I don’t know about you, but I do know I will feel better sleeping at night with a trench and wall between me and whatever else is out in that forest.”

  Sabinus fell silent, his eyes once again roving over the city.

  “I quite agree with you, sir,” Sabinus said. “It will be done.”

  “Excellent,” Stiger said. “I am counting on you.”

  Hogan and Merog broke off from Brogan and started down the hill, making their way alongside the column of Brogan’s escort. Father Thomas moved over to Stiger and Sabinus. There was a bounce in the paladin’s step that had not been there in the tunnel.

  “My son,” Father Thomas said to Stiger, “would you care to go with me to the High Father’s temple? After speaking with Hogan, I believe we’ve identified it below.”

  The paladin pointed with a hand at a large stone building around a mile and a half off. The roof had long ago collapsed; however, a number of thick white marble columns yet stood, poking up from amidst the trees. It was clear that the building had been very large but, like everything else in the city below, was now only a ruin, just a shadow of the past.

  “As Brogan goes to honor his ancestors, I believe it will be good to pay our respects to our god,” Father Thomas said. “Don’t you agree?”

  Stiger thought about it a moment. The temple to the High Father in Mal’Zeel was a true wonder. In his youth, it was a place Stiger had often visited with his mother. He had fond memories of those times, before things had turned sour, all the result of a poor choice by his father.

  “I should like to see the High Father’s temple,” Stiger said and meant it. He glanced around and saw Dog sitting a few feet away, gaze focused intently down into the trees. Dog’s tail started to wag. Stiger wondered if he had seen something worth chasing, perhaps a squirrel or something else. Or it could have been just the forest and all the smells that begged for exploration.

  “Dog,” Stiger called. “Come.”

  Dog immediately got up and walked over.

  “Shall we go, then?” Father Thomas was clearly eager to be off.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Sabinus said. “After what we spoke on, I would feel more comfortable if you two had an escort. Once Pixus comes up, he can organize a detail.”

  “You are quite correct,” Stiger said and then turned back to the paladin. “It won’t kill us to wait a little longer.”

  “No,” Father Thomas said, his gaze swinging longingly out toward the city. The dwarves continued to march by them. Fifth Century was still down below in the tunnels. “I suppose it won’t.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “This, my son, pleases me greatly,” Father Thomas said, wiping away tears with the hem of his robe. “Standing here is a dream come true.”

  Stiger and Father Thomas were standing in the middle of what clearly had once been a temple. Most of the walls had come down, thoroughly collapsed into mounds of rubble and ruin. A layer of dirt, thick with vegetation, topped most everything. Aside from small patches of exposed stone, the temple was almost completely covered by a carpet of greenish forest moss.

  Stiger stepped up to what looked to have been a marble basin. He had seen such basins before. Instead of holy water, it was filled with dirt. Ivy had taken root, spilling out and down the sides of the basin and spreading outward in many directions. It had worked its way across the floor and started to climb several of the broken columns.

  It wasn’t just ivy that grew here. Plants, brush, and even whole trees had grown up inside the temple. Stiger glanced upward at the sky. There was nothing left of the roof, other than smashed clay tiles that poked up and out of the dirt on the floor. Stiger was careful where he placed his feet, lest he trip and turn an ankle.

  The great pillars that ringed the building had collapsed as well. Most had fallen outward, with only two having come down inside the temple. All that remained were the stumps and the foundation of the temple itself.

  As they had moved through the city, Stiger noticed in some places there was a complete lack of any stone blocks, walls, or piles of debris. It appeared as if, long ago, some enterprising individual had intentionally removed the marble blocks for repurposing elsewhere. Stiger had seen this happen before, so it did not overly surprise him. At some point in the past, nearby peoples had likely scavenged the city for fresh building materials. Why work to make new materials when you could just take what you needed?

  The forest was doing its best to reclaim what people had once worked so hard to build. The temple, like the surrounding area, was so choked with growth that it had taken them some effort to make their way here. Climbing over walls and mounds of debris and forcing their way through thickets of brush, they had traversed a veritable obstacle course. By the time they had arrived, Stiger had found himself sweating profusely.

  He glanced behind him at the file of men Pixus had assigned as an escort. They had had just as difficult a time, maybe more so, as their shields repeatedly caught in the low-lying brush. Stiger had allowed the men the opportunity to rest. They had gratefully set their shields down.

  Dog sniffed, weaving his way in and out of the brush and bushes. Stiger turned. He had just lost sight of the paladin. He saw a rustle of brush and figured Father Thomas had pushed through the large bush.

  “Oh my,” Stiger heard Father Thomas exclaim. Curious, Stiger followed and found himself standing in an open space. There was a coating of dirt on the floor, and very little grew here besides isolated strands of grass.

  He moved aside some of the dirt with a foot and found an aged and cracked marble flooring less than an inch down. The flooring was surprisingly intact. He reasoned the thick foundation of the temple had helped to keep it so.

  “This must’ve been the exact center of the temple, the beating heart, if you will,” Father Thomas said, gesturing around with both hands held outward. He stopped and pointed. “The priests would have conducted religious services here for the masses. If I had to make a guess, just ahead there would’ve been the High Father’s altar, and behind that, his statue.”

  All that was left was a large brush-covered mound where the back wall of the temple looked to have collapsed, falling inward. Stiger found the ruins of the city somehow sad and the temple even more so. A student of history, he understood that cities rose and fell. And as Eli had so often reminded him, the world was constantly changing.

  “What seems permanent,” Stiger said to himself, channeling Eli, “is in reality not.”

  The empire, as it expanded, had conquered entire peoples, sometimes absorbed existing cities. Other times, depending upon the circumstances, destroying cities and enslaving entire populations. Stiger was sure that the people who had once lived here could never have imagined what it had become, a massive ruin, a decay
ing reminder of a past his own people had long since forgotten. He shook his head sadly.

  On the other hand, Stiger found it fascinating that Karus the Great had once lived here. He had often wondered what Karus had been like. He was reputed to have been a great warrior and leader of men, a true soldier of Rome. Was Stiger, even now, walking in the great man’s footsteps? In this very temple, perhaps? It was a captivating thought and one that sent a slight thrill through him. Stiger suspected that if what Father Thomas had told him about this being the very first temple was true, there was a good chance that he was indeed walking in Karus’s footsteps, and even Amarra’s.

  “Were there something left over other than just ruin . . .” Father Thomas said, sounding a little disappointed. The paladin turned to Stiger. “ . . . I would very much like to have seen the High Father’s statue.”

  “I would’ve enjoyed seeing it as well,” Stiger said, and in truth he would have.

  “It was reputed to be a masterpiece beyond comparison,” Father Thomas said, “made by Adava’s own hand. The holy texts speak of it, you know, as do some of the histories of my order.”

  “My father once owned a small Adava,” Stiger said, recalling the bust of Legate Dio.

  “What happened to it?” Father Thomas asked.

  “With our fall from grace, it was confiscated by the emperor,” Stiger said with a shrug. “I imagine it is decorating some corner of the emperor’s palace.”

  Father Thomas gave a nod, as if the answer had not been unexpected, and resumed his explorations of the temple.

  “Your order makes a record of history?” Stiger said, a thought occurring to him. “You have your own historians, histories, then?”

  “We do,” Father Thomas admitted, sounding a tad grudging. When Stiger failed to respond and simply waited for more, the paladin gave a slight sigh. “We try to record as much as possible. However, what we do record is never shared or disseminated outside of the church.”

  “Why not?”

  “Knowledge is power,” Father Thomas said. “As a son of a great house, you above all people should recognize that. It is no different in my profession; sometimes a little information can make all the difference.”