The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Second rank, advance five paces,” Stiger ordered. “First rank, prepare to fall back in good order.”

  Stiger saw Sabinus had detailed several men to help the wounded dwarves and legionaries move back toward the encampment. Brogan had called on those dwarves who were either walking wounded or had not yet joined the flank guard to assist the injured as well. They already had a good head start on the century, something Stiger was grateful for.

  “Thoggle should have warned us that it wasn’t just the sword that was dangerous,” Theo said, and then glanced over at the thane. “I have a feeling Brogan knows that now, too. I would—”

  “Mind if we save this for later?” Stiger could not believe his friend wanted to have this conversation now. “I need to get us out of here and back to my camp before those buggers out there turn on us.”

  Theo gave an understanding nod. “Of course.”

  Relieved, Stiger turned back to studying the battlefield. Watching the disorganized enemy and the fight beyond the bubble of the Fifth, Stiger gave the order for the formation to move. They began a slow, steady withdrawal from the battlefield, one rank marching forward and the other stepping backward, shields facing the enemy. Several dwarves caught outside the formation realized what was happening. They made a desperate dash for the century. Two made it to safety. Five others were cut down well short.

  The rage he had felt toward Brogan glowed white hot again. This had been a senseless slaughter. Had Taithun bothered to fortify his camp, the dwarves might have stood a chance. Now, such thoughtlessness had placed Stiger and Fifth Century in serious jeopardy, for Stiger expected the enemy to come for him next.

  Watching the orcs closely, Stiger stepped with the formation as it moved steadily backward. In the darkness behind him, those cut off fought on. It killed him inside to leave those dwarves to die, but there was simply no choice. The enemy had superior numbers. He could not remain here or make a futile attempt to rescue them, losing even more than he would likely save.

  The formation moved back through the trees and brush. The dwarven camp disappeared from view. Even as it did, the fighting died down and, a moment later, ceased in its entirety.

  “First rank,” Stiger called, “about face.”

  He waited for his order to be executed. All of the legionaries of the Fifth were now facing in the same direction. It was time to move with haste.

  “On the double,” Stiger called. “March.”

  The formation began moving rapidly back through the trees and brush, armor chinking as it crashed forward toward the safety of the legionary encampment. There was no pursuit. That didn’t surprise Stiger. The orcs were disorganized and were now likely more interested in looting the dead and the camp behind them, searching for spoils.

  Mectillius and the water detail had returned and were waiting for them when they arrived back at the camp. Stiger was pleased to see the optio and his men alive and well. It appeared Mectillius was just as relieved to see them.

  Stiger handed command back to Pixus and instructed the centurion to bring his century back within the safety of the camp. Within a short time, Pixus’s men were streaming over the bridged trench and through the entrance. Stiger waited until the last of the men and dwarves made their way through before stepping up to the bridge. He was left with Brogan, Theo, and Father Thomas. Sabinus had just followed after the men.

  Dog sat down by Stiger’s side. He glanced down at the animal. Dog’s ears were up and his intense eyes scanned the darkness in the direction they had just come.

  Now that he reflected on it, Stiger was surprised that Dog had stayed by his side throughout the entire fight. Dog abruptly glanced upward at him, almost as if he were reading Stiger’s mind. He got the sense that the animal was disappointed not to have been set free to go after the enemy. Stiger sucked in a breath. There was a hunger in those eyes that Stiger found akin to Rarokan’s.

  “You too?” Stiger asked him, letting the breath out.

  Dog did not answer. After a moment, the dog looked away, returning to scanning the darkness.

  “I suppose a thank you is an order,” Brogan said, dragging Stiger’s attention away from Dog. The thane’s tone was grudging and somewhat subdued. “Thank you.”

  Stiger felt the anger that had burned in his breast slowly begin die down. It left him feeling weary and slightly ill at the thought of what had just occurred. So many dwarves had needlessly died. He wondered how many men he had lost.

  “You would’ve done the same for us,” Stiger said. “What of Jorthan? I’ve not seen him.”

  Brogan shook his head, and a look of grief overcame him.

  “And Taithun?”

  Again, Brogan shook his head. “He was one of the first to fall.” The thane cleared his throat. “Both had been with me for many years. I shall miss them dearly.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Father Thomas said with sadness, laying a comforting hand upon the thane’s shoulder. “Over the past few weeks, I am proud to say I got to know Jorthan well. He had a good soul. I will pray for their spirits as they cross over to the other side.”

  “Though he was no warrior,” Brogan said, “in the end, Jorthan picked up a sword and stood with the rest of us. He earned himself great legend.” He gave a heavy sigh. “It came at the cost of his life.”

  The thane fell silent.

  “Before we left,” Stiger said, “Thoggle told me Jorthan had a way to summon him. If things went balls up, which I believe we can all safely agree they have, Jorthan was to call on the wizard for aid. Now that he is gone, can you summon the wizard? I would think we could use his help about now.”

  Brogan was silent for a long moment, and Stiger’s heart plummeted. He knew the answer even before Brogan spoke.

  “I have no way of calling upon Thoggle.” Brogan heaved a great sigh. “Sadly, any such means would have died with Jorthan.”

  It was as Stiger had thought. Rubbing his jaw, he turned to the paladin.

  “And you, can you reach Thoggle?”

  “No,” Father Thomas said. “I cannot.”

  “That is downright disappointing,” Theo said, which Stiger thought was an incredible understatement.

  A victory cheer went up in the direction of the dwarven camp. It was accompanied by individual roars. It almost sounded to Stiger as if someone was giving a speech and the orcs were responding to it. Was it their king? Was Therik basking in his victory over the dwarves? Was he even now working them up into a frenzy for a final assault on the legionary encampment? It was a sobering thought and one that pricked at Stiger’s anger. Despite the sword telling him otherwise, he had felt he could trust the king. It had been a mistake. Hopefully, it would not be his last.

  “I guess,” Stiger said, feeling terribly unhappy, “we are on our own.”

  No one said anything to that.

  Taking a deep breath, he glanced once more in the direction of the enemy, concealed by the darkness and brush. He turned and walked over the planks that bridged the trench into the camp. He sensed the others following, as well as Dog.

  Pixus had men standing by, waiting for them. Once everyone was inside the camp, they quickly took in the planks. A rough wooden gate made of thick logs was manhandled into place. Landing with a heavy thud, it neatly blocked and sealed off the entrance. The thud had the sound of finality to it.

  He turned around, studying the walls of the encampment. They looked sturdy enough. The camp was well-fortified. The enemy would have a hard time of it. Stiger was pleased to see the men had already been dispersed to each wall. They waited in anticipation of the assault that Stiger was certain would shortly come. It was only a matter of time until the orcs got organized.

  He was about to say something to Brogan, then paused. In the distance, there was the sudden clash of arms. The sound of the fighting continued and grew, which meant it was not stragglers. From out in the darkness there were shouts.

  Sabinus came over to Stiger. “That sounds as if it is coming from
the orc camp.”

  “It must be some of Hogan’s boys,” Brogan said bitterly and turned to face Stiger, shooting a glance toward Father Thomas. “After you both talked me out of my plans for Therik, I dispersed his pioneers. They were to scout outward, beyond the city.” Brogan looked back out into the darkness. “As his pioneers were dispersing, Hogan must have stumbled upon the enemy, for he sent us warning, though it only arrived just moments before the orcs did.” Brogan fell silent as they listened to the distant fighting.

  “It seems Hogan was able to call some of his boys back together,” Theo said. “It is the only explanation. They must be hitting Therik now.”

  Stiger agreed with that assessment.

  “I hope he hurts them something good,” Brogan said.

  Stiger looked at Brogan and discarded what he had intended to say. He turned and saw Pixus waiting.

  “Your orders, sir?”

  “Check over your men,” Stiger said. “Make sure any wounds are tended to. You and I both know there are those who get injured but don’t become aware of it until later. Have everyone look themselves over.” He paused. “Also, while the enemy gives us the time, see that your men get watered and fed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pixus saluted and left.

  The fighting in the distance had died off. No longer could they hear the clash of arms.

  “What now?” Brogan asked in a whisper as he stared out into the darkness beyond the walls. Stiger got the sense that the thane had meant that for himself alone, but Stiger decided to answer him anyway.

  “Now we wait for their attack,” Stiger said. “We bleed them good and hurt the enemy as much as possible. When dawn comes, we will see if we can break out and make it to the safety of the tunnels. Then your people can guide us back.”

  Brogan turned to him, and his expression for a moment hardened, but then the thane of the dwarves gave a reluctant nod of acceptance.

  Stiger turned away. His mouth was terribly dry from shouting. He also had a foul taste. He stepped over to the stump where he had left his canteen and saddlebags. Unstopping the canteen, he sat down on the stump and took a long drink.

  Chapter Twenty

  “It’s too quiet, sir,” Sabinus said in a hushed tone so that only Stiger could hear. The nearest of the men was only feet away. The centurion was peering out into the night, his hand resting absently on the hilt of his sword. “Just too bloody quiet.”

  Stiger scanned the darkness beyond the wall he was leaning upon. He saw nothing other than the watch fires, which had been set just past the lip of the outer trench. The fires had died down for the most part and now barely provided any useful light. They were a dismal and somewhat disheartening sight.

  Stiger took a deep breath and sucked in some of the crisp air. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the nearest trees. An owl hooted in the distance, while insects buzzed or chirped loudly away. He glanced upward. Stars set against a blackened sky poked out from around the scattered clouds that slid slowly by high overhead. The moon had disappeared behind one large cloud. Its outline could be seen straight through the cloud. Another breeze blew by, this one a little stronger. It seemed very much a peaceful night. But it wasn’t.

  Eying one of the dying fires, Stiger let out an unhappy breath. Sabinus had been on him to send parties out to build up the watch fires. He had demurred. Sending men over the wall was not only risky, it was a bad idea. They had few enough defenders as it was. He could not afford to lose the very men he would need to hold the wall, for Stiger believed the enemy was surely out there, concealed in the darkness. The question was, where? And more importantly, what were they up to?

  To his left and right, legionaries from Fifth Century manned the walls, as did a handful of dwarves. They had returned from rescuing Brogan at least two hours before. Once it had become clear that the enemy would not immediately test him, Stiger had stood down half of the century from the walls. Those men were now busy working, while the rest kept a keen eye staring out into the night.

  Stiger had already walked the walls himself. To keep from unsettling the men, he had intentionally positioned himself by the gate. Here he stood with Sabinus by his side, as if he had not a concern in the world.

  He looked over the nearest sentry and was pleased with what he saw. The man’s gaze was fixed outward, scanning the darkness for any hint of the enemy. The legionary was holding his javelin’s neck, the butt of the fearsome weapon resting in the dirt at his feet. The man’s shield had been leaned against the wall, ready when needed.

  Though he was a man out of his time, Stiger could easily relate to Pixus’s men, especially after the fight. Soldiers were soldiers, no matter the time period. Even better, these men were legionaries. Their armor was of a different design, one that was more archaic, in that the cuirass was made out of chain mail, instead of steel segmented plates. It was still more than familiar to him, especially since many of the allied auxiliary cohorts Stiger had worked with over the years favored the old-style chain mail. The helmet, though incredibly similar, was more functional and less ornate than those used in Stiger’s time.

  The men of Fifth Century were professional soldiers and Stiger felt comfortable amongst them. For the most part they used many of the same weapons and tactics that his own men had used three hundred years in the future. The shields and short swords were nearly identical, which meant their tactics were similar to those Stiger was familiar with.

  One of the nearby men shifted his javelin from one hand to the other. Yet another difference was that the legions in this time still used the traditional heavier weapon, which Stiger preferred over the short spear. In the old tongue, this weapon was called the pilum.

  Stiger glanced around again. Yes, he felt as comfortable leading these men into battle as he had his own. The legions, whether in the past or future, were formidable fighting machines. They were filled with disciplined, skilled, and professional soldiers. Out of time or not, just by being amongst them, Stiger almost felt as if he were home again.

  That thought caused him some concern. Sarai’s home had become his and he had given up this life, putting his time as a soldier behind him. Instead, Stiger had been unexpectedly drawn in even deeper. He now found himself more accepting of Delvaris’s fate as his own. Stiger rubbed the back of his neck. If a return to the legion meant he could help keep Sarai safe, he would willingly pick up Delvaris’s mantle and wear it proudly. And yet, at the same time he felt as if the more he came to terms with this fate, the further from Sarai he would be driven. Stiger wasn’t sure he was prepared to sacrifice Sarai for destiny. Was it really worth it?

  Though he wanted to fight and rail against the injustice, Stiger suspected it was.

  A loud sneeze to his right shook him from his thoughts. In the near silence, it seemed like a shout. He glanced over and saw a dwarf wiping at his bulbous nose with a handkerchief. The dwarf stood next to a legionary, who was shaking his head with dismay. The dwarf gave an apologetic shrug.

  Forty-eight of Brogan’s dwarves had survived the assault on their camp by the orcs. Of these, four had come in after the century had returned to the safety of the encampment. The rest of Brogan’s escort was gone. Stiger had found it more than a little disheartening to see these once proud dwarves humbled in defeat. Despite his dislike for Taithun and irritation with Brogan, they were his allies. He needed them, no matter how unreliable the dwarves in this time were proving to be. Should they survive the next few hours, Stiger wondered if Brogan would learn anything from what had occurred here in this dead city.

  “Bloody dwarves,” Sabinus muttered, before turning his gaze back out into the darkness. “Well, it was quiet.”

  “They’re out there,” Stiger said in a low, steady tone, without glancing over at Sabinus. “Don’t you doubt that. They are out there.”

  The chinking of armor caused Stiger and Sabinus to turn. Pixus was moving steadily along the wall. He stopped just feet from them to speak quietly to several men. The centurion’s voice wa
s a barely whisper. Stiger could not make out what was said. Pixus pointed at a javelin that had been set against the wall, then at one of the legionaries, tapping the man on the chest. He jerked a thumb at Stiger. The legionary hastily snatched it up and stood to attention. Pixus said something further and then, wearing a hard, irritated expression, moved on. Stiger almost chuckled, for he knew the hard-as-nails centurion act was all for the benefit of the men. Pixus was certainly as anxious and unsettled as the rest of them. He, like the other officers, wouldn’t permit the men to see his true feelings.

  “A lovely evening,” Stiger said to Pixus, loud enough for the nearest man to hear.

  “That it is, sir,” Pixus said. The centurion sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “By the seven levels, I wish every night was as fine as this one.”

  In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “Sounds as if the weather’s gonna improve on this night as well,” Sabinus added with a chuckle.

  “I hope it does, for it will make any assault on our walls just that much more difficult. We had a nice little fight, sir,” Pixus said in a confident manner. “We gave those savages a solid thrashing. It was the beating they didn’t want but deserved.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I expect that when they get off their asses for a go of it, we will give them another good whipping.” Pixus bounced lightly on his toes. “Yes, sir, a very fine evening indeed.”

  That brought a slight smile to Stiger’s face. He had to struggle to conceal it as the closest of the men glanced over. Pixus was a man he could like.

  The centurion spared a quick glance around him and then drew nearer. He lowered his voice a bit. The show was clearly over. It was time for business.

  “I’ve got the wounded tended to, sir,” Pixus said. “Father Thomas helped with the sewing and the bandaging of those more grievously injured.”