The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “It will indeed be a dangerous enterprise,” Father Thomas said.

  “You want a fight,” Stiger said suddenly, looking from Jorthan to Brogan. It all made sense now. “The antagonistic approach with Therik. You came here not to seek peace, but to pick a fight.”

  Brogan and Jorthan shared a look.

  “Not quite a fight,” Brogan said. “But I won’t deny we had other plans.”

  “Why?” Sabinus asked, perplexed. “Why the deception, then?”

  Stiger’s mouth fell open as it dawned on him what the thane intended.

  “You are not planning on letting Therik leave,” Stiger said to Brogan. “Are you? That is why Hogan is here and your pioneers have come in force. You aren’t looking to secure this site. It is deep in your lands, far from orc territory and fairly safe. You brought Therik out here to kill him.”

  “Is this true?” Father Thomas’s voice bordered on angry. Stiger had never seen the paladin livid before and felt the power within the paladin bubble up. He wondered for a moment if the others could feel it as well.

  Brogan and Jorthan exchanged another look.

  “You speak of legend,” Stiger said, irritated that Brogan had not been open with him on his intentions. “How does assassination pass your sense of legend? You brought them here under the guise of a parley. All along, you intended to betray that trust.”

  “Therik is an orc,” Brogan said with a slight shrug, as if it were of no real concern to him. “He is of the lesser races, our enemy. Your enemy, too. Legend does not apply to them.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” Father Thomas said.

  “Does your legend apply to us?” Stiger asked. “Or does legend only matter amongst dwarves?”

  Jorthan cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention.

  “Perhaps I can explain,” Jorthan said. “For years we have worked to keep the tribes fragmented. We encouraged disputes between them. We financially supported tribe against tribe, sometimes funding both sides in a blood feud. Anything we could do to keep the tribes from uniting, we did. As long as the orcs were preoccupied with each other, they left Vrell alone. That has always been our objective. Whenever a king or leader would arise and start unifying the tribes, we shifted and focused our attention on undermining his base. In this way we have been able to keep the orcs weak, with no chance of developing into a serious threat.”

  “Then Therik came along,” Stiger said. “That all changed, didn’t it?”

  “He is different,” Brogan said. “Therik managed, despite our best efforts, to unite all of the tribes under his banner. And it is as he himself said: They now work to build things. In short, they prosper like never before and have become strong.”

  “When we realized we could not weaken his position,” Jorthan said, “we changed our strategy. We worked with him to keep the peace, while at the same time preparing for war. For the last five years we have been building up our army. It was our understanding that once Therik’s kingdom became powerful enough, he would turn his gaze our way.”

  “We had intended to provoke a war long before they were ready,” Brogan said. “To protect Vrell and the World Gate, we would strike first. We would hurt them in such a way that they would not soon seek to challenge us for years to come, perhaps even decades.”

  “You decided not to try for peace?” Father Thomas asked.

  “Since we have come to this world,” Brogan said, “my people have fought several wars with the orcs. There is no living peacefully with them. Believe me, we have tried.”

  “You heard Therik,” Jorthan said. “Orcs respect strength. We were going to show it to them.”

  “Only, the war came early,” Stiger said. “The minion arrived and you’re not quite prepared, are you?”

  “We had expected to have another couple years,” Jorthan said.

  “Why kill Therik, then?” Father Thomas asked. “I don’t understand that. With the minion present, ready or not, you now have your war. And if I understand correctly, you may be better prepared than the orcs.”

  “The minion was unexpected,” Jorthan admitted. “We had not planned on it.”

  “So,” Stiger said, thinking it out. He glanced in the direction Therik had gone. “You decided to eliminate Therik because you have what you want, your war. Keeping him alive is more dangerous. Is that it?”

  “By all accounts and reports from our spies,” Brogan said, “he is a genius on the battlefield, a natural leader. If I don’t have to face him in battle, especially if the orcs are coming anyway, all the better. Do you understand now?”

  “We had not planned on allowing him to return to his people,” Jorthan said. “Our provoking him was designed to get him to reveal more information about his current position than he normally would. For instance, we learned their army is larger than we knew. With the minion and this high priest running things, allowing Therik to go back is too great a risk. Even as a puppet king, he would be their field general. Why allow our enemy to retain such an asset?”

  “I have two hundred pioneers sealing a ring of steel around us,” Brogan said. “After the feast tonight, Therik and his entire party were to be killed. Taithun was to see the deed done, Hogan to ensure none escaped.”

  “But,” Stiger said, looking at Brogan, “you are now having second thoughts?”

  “I am,” Brogan admitted. “I had not expected Therik to turn on his own god. It might make more sense to go through with Therik’s plan, especially if the minion can be killed. Should such a venture prove successful, some of the tribes would clearly want revenge. We’d punish them severely, of course.”

  Jorthan’s expression became unhappy and he shot a scowl at his thane.

  “But that would still leave Therik as king,” Sabinus said, “with a good part of his army in place. They would still be a threat to you.”

  “An accident could always be arranged for Therik and his son,” Brogan said with an unconcerned shrug. “In the end, the tribes would fragment, which is what we want. Without Therik or his son, there is no clear heir. The next decade would see the tribes consumed in fighting each other for dominance. Our goal of keeping Vrell safe and secure would be achieved.”

  Stiger rubbed his jaw as he regarded the thane. He was, as Theo had said, extremely devious. The thane was playing a hard game, which Stiger understood all too well. The empire had done the same in manipulating its neighbors. Stiger had even participated in such efforts of playing tribes and small kingdoms against one another. That said, he did not much care for the idea of crossing Therik. Contrary to his expectations, Stiger had begun to like the king, and thoughts of assassination bothered him greatly.

  “Does Thoggle know what you planned?” Stiger asked.

  “No,” Brogan said. “The wizard thinks we came only to talk.”

  “I will have no part in the assassination of Therik,” Father Thomas said firmly, anger plain in his voice. “And I will not allow you to proceed.”

  “Will not?” Brogan asked, turning on the paladin with a shocked expression. “You would prevent me from killing the enemy?”

  “I would,” the paladin said in a quiet tone that raised the hair on the back of Stiger’s neck. “I supported these talks because Thoggle and I thought they might bear fruit. They have. Therik has brought us an opportunity. It should be seriously considered. And if discarded, the orc king will be allowed to leave. I will not stain the High Father’s honor with an assassination on holy ground. This city, as you well know, was consecrated in the High Father’s name. It is why Therik agreed to this place. Outside of a temple, it is the one area that Castor’s priests and minions may not go. You will not betray that sanctity.”

  Brogan stared hard at the paladin. His gaze flicked over to Stiger.

  “Oh, very well,” Brogan said, giving in. “But if we let him go, it may prove bad for us in the long run.”

  “We will just have to take that risk,” Father Thomas said.

  Jorthan looked as though a th
ought had occurred to him. “From what Therik says, I take it you both have already confronted and defeated a minion. Is that true? Would you willingly face another?”

  Stiger shared a glance with the paladin.

  “It all comes down to that,” Stiger said, coming back to the task at hand. Despite Brogan’s machinations, he still had a job to do. “I fear I must face the minion. Whether that is in a dark temple or on the field of battle, the creature must be taken down.”

  “You will not face it alone, my son.” Father Thomas rested a hand on Stiger’s shoulder. “Like the last time, I will be there at your side.”

  “What if it kills you?” Sabinus asked Stiger. “I saw that monstrosity when it murdered my legate. What then if the same happens to you?”

  “It may.” Stiger had seen that future, too. He turned his gaze back to Father Thomas. “Do we go to it or allow it come to us?”

  “How do you know it will come?” Brogan asked. “If we don’t go through with Therik’s plan, it may just send him and his army at us and remain behind. And why do you have to face it?”

  Stiger was about to respond when Father Thomas laid a hand upon Stiger’s forearm and shot him a meaningful look.

  “This centers around the restoration of the Compact,” Father Thomas said to the thane. “We’ve both come here because of it.”

  Brogan blinked, then pointed a finger at Stiger. “Are you here to restore that which has been sundered? Is that why you have come through the Gate?”

  “I’ve already restored the Compact,” Stiger said, “not here in this time, but the future.”

  “The future?” Excitement danced in Brogan’s eyes. All hints of irritation and anger had left him. He looked over at Jorthan. “The oracle’s prophecy is true.”

  “It seems so, My Thane,” Jorthan said, just as excited.

  “As you know,” Father Thomas said, “the minion coming to this time has changed events in the future. However, much was kept from you. You must tell no one of what we speak. If you do, and we are successful in repairing the damage, any loose words may fundamentally change what must come.”

  “We will say nothing,” Jorthan promised fervently, clearly eager to hear more. “Both my thane and I shall swear it to the High Father and all the other gods we honor.”

  Brogan looked over at Jorthan, his lips drawing together in a thin line.

  “And you, Thane Brogan?” Father Thomas pressed. “Will you swear, as your advisor suggested? For if you refuse, Thoggle will almost assuredly alter your memory, including of what you already know. By the High Father, he may do so anyway, even if you do promise.”

  “He wouldn’t dare,” Brogan said, though the conviction was somewhat lacking in his tone.

  “Thoggle made it plain to me that he would alter your memory if you refused me,” Father Thomas said.

  “He would,” Jorthan confirmed. “Thoggle may be without legend, but he always follows through on his promises.”

  Brogan gave a firm yet sullen nod. “I swear upon my legend and the gods I honor I will reveal nothing of what you tell me.” Brogan jerked a thumb at Sabinus. “What about the centurion here?”

  “He has already given me his word,” Father Thomas said and rubbed his hands together. He turned to the fire and held them out a moment, warming them. Then turned back. “At Castle Vrell, we defeated a minion of Castor, approximately three hundred years in the future. Another escaped us. With the help of a wizard, it opened the World Gate to travel here to your time. It came to kill Legate Delvaris with the intention of changing what is to come. We traveled back after the creature to stop it. Tragically, we did not arrive in time. That last bit you know only too well.” Father Thomas paused and sucked in a breath. “Now, what you do not know is that we must fix the damage done, for should we fail, the Compact will never be restored and someone else, quite possibly an agent unfriendly to our two peoples, will have the power to manipulate the World Gate. That is what is at stake. The High Father has chosen Stiger as his champion. It will be his honor to read the High Father’s intentions and choose to unlock the Gate”—Father Thomas paused and glanced over at Stiger—“or leave it sealed. That is why Castor wants him dead, for the god desires the Gate for himself.”

  A silence fell upon them. Even Sabinus, who knew much of what had been revealed, seemed stunned by this additional information. Stiger felt uncomfortable as their eyes fell upon him in wonder.

  “That certainly puts things in perspective,” Jorthan said. “And if I am correct, this is why you are taking Therik’s proposal seriously? You are looking for an opportunity to get to Castor’s minion.”

  “Exactly,” Father Thomas said. “We must kill the minion. With its death, Castor’s strength on this world will diminish greatly. If we are successful, we will have the time and ability to set things right, or so Thoggle believes.”

  “Champion?” Sabinus said, eyes upon Stiger. “You are a holy warrior, like the paladin?”

  Stiger turned an unhappy gaze upon Sabinus.

  “He is the High Father’s champion,” Father Thomas said in a hard tone, before Stiger could reply. The paladin turned to look upon the two dwarves. “He is the one named by your oracle, the Restorer of the Compact.”

  The dwarves’ excitement had shifted over to what seemed like awe. Brogan’s eyes had gone wide, then narrowed as he tilted his head. It was as if he were seeing Stiger for the first time. Jorthan brought a hand up to his mouth and played with the beard in a speculative manner. It made Stiger feel even more uncomfortable. Yet, at the same time, his mind raced. The sword had shown him what had happened to Delvaris. Having assumed Delvaris’s mantle, Stiger understood that fate was now his. There was really only one option open to him.

  “It does put things nicely in perspective, doesn’t it?” Stiger looked at Brogan. “And it is why we have to take Therik up on his offer to guide us into that dark temple. We must go kill the minion and this high priest, Cetrite.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “An impressive camp,” Taithun said to Pixus as he gazed around. The captain had removed his armor and was wearing only a gray tunic. A purple belt denoting his clan colors had been cinched around the middle. He was walking around with his arms behind his back.

  Upon his return from meeting with Brogan and Therik, Stiger had found Pixus providing a tour to the captain, conducting him about the camp. The centurion had patiently answered Taithun’s questions about the camp, equipment, training, food, the legion’s supply system, and the men. Taithun seemed genuinely interested in what Pixus had to say.

  Stiger was sitting a few feet away, resting on a fallen stone block. The site Pixus had selected for their camp was an old building, the interior of which had long ago collapsed. Judging from the size, it appeared to have once been a warehouse, but it was hard to be certain. The truth was it could have been anything. The walls, what remained of them, were quite solid, though they were showing their age through weathering and cracks. The top-most blocks had been worn smooth by years of exposure to the elements.

  The walls came up to around four feet. The roof, had there ever been one, had long since caved in and was nowhere to be seen. Stiger rather suspected it was now buried beneath their feet. The interior of the ruin had been choked with small trees and brush. Fifth Century had spent considerable effort ripping up the vegetation. They had done a good job of it, too. Ivy, which had grown up thick on and over the walls, had been pulled off and uprooted.

  A trench had been dug around the outside of the walls to a depth of seven feet. The men were now busy erecting the last of the tents behind him. A team was digging a series of latrines on the backside of the camp, while a wood party had built up quite a supply and several campfires had already been set.

  Stiger opened his haversack and pulled out the last of Sarai’s cheese. All that was left were several wrapped bundles of salted pork. He eyed Taithun and Pixus a few feet away as he broke the cheese up into manageable portions. He took a sip from his can
teen.

  “Very impressive work,” Taithun said, “and in so short a time, too.”

  “Thank you,” Pixus said. “Setting up a marching encampment is something our men are trained to do.”

  It was clear the tour was coming to an end as they had finished near the entrance gate. Taithun gazed once again around the camp.

  “What happens when you don’t have walls like these?” Taithun asked.

  “We build dirt walls,” Pixus said, “using what we excavated from the trenches. Then we set a wooden barricade over the top of it. We got fortunate today and it saved a lot of time.”

  “I still don’t understand why you feel the need to fortify your camp, especially here,” Taithun said. “Our pioneers have cleared the city and the surrounding lands. Were there any threats out there, we would know.”

  “I have no doubt about that,” Pixus said in a carefully neutral tone. The centurion was being quite diplomatic. “This is simply our standard practice—procedure, if you will. Since we’ve been underground the last few days, you’ve just not seen us do it.”

  Stiger took a bite of his cheese as Taithun glanced his way. The cheese was not terribly good, but Stiger was hungry and had felt like a snack. He chewed without much enjoyment, but it did remind him of Sarai and home.

  What with the march here, his explorations and the meeting with Therik, it had been a long day. Stiger’s legs ached and he was looking forward to turning in after the feast. Chewing slowly, he peered into his haversack in the hopes of avoiding conversation with Taithun and took another bite of the cheese. It really was quite terrible. The alternative was some of the salted pork. Over his years of service, he had developed an intense dislike for the stuff, so much so that Sarai’s terrible cheese was preferable.

  “Legate Delvaris, are you regularly in the habit of making your men work, just so they have something to do?” Taithun asked Stiger.