The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Did the messenger get off?” Brogan asked.

  “Yes, My Thane,” Theo said, with a quick glance over at Brogan. “I saw to it as soon as the horse was ready. I sent Talik. He left before we marched out of the camp. Talik knows what’s at stake and should make excellent time.”

  “Talik’s a good dvergr. He’s reliable and levelheaded. It was a good choice.” Brogan gave Theo a pleased nod before turning back to Stiger.

  “You are correct,” Brogan said, giving a little. “We must not get ahead of ourselves. With the messenger out, our sole objective is to return to safety. Then, I shall have my revenge.”

  “Protecting the valley is the most important thing,” Stiger said, with just as much firmness as he had used a moment before. He was simply pointing out the obvious, but at the same time knew it would upset the thane regardless. “Only then can we think on a reckoning. Are we agreed on that?”

  Stiger saw Theo roll his eyes, as Brogan’s popped with anger. Both Hogan and Merog stiffened. Stiger could imagine the thane’s irritation at having been corrected in front of others, and by a human to boot. The thane worked his jaw for a moment and then his eyes narrowed.

  “We protect the valley,” Brogan said finally, as if giving in to the inevitable. “We will do this together. Once the threat is over, then jointly we shall seek our revenge. Are we agreed on that?”

  The thane extended his arm, hand open, and held out in expectation.

  Stiger glanced at the proffered hand a moment, understanding the thane was giving his word. This had to do with dwarven legend. Brogan would expect Stiger to give his word as well, essentially committing him to a course of revenge, should they survive. If Stiger refused the thane, he would be giving offense. There was too much at stake. He felt he did not have much of a choice. Stiger clasped the thane’s forearm tightly.

  “Agreed,” Stiger said. “We protect the valley, see it safe. Then we will make Therik pay for his sins. That sound good?”

  “It does,” Brogan said and released Stiger’s arm. Clearly pleased, he patted Stiger on the shoulder armor. It was more of a blow than a pat, and Stiger found himself grateful for his armor. “We do this together, like Karus and Garath.”

  Stiger did not know who Garath was, but he gave a nod. Theo let out a soft breath in what seemed like relief. Stiger noticed that Hogan and Merog had done the same. He wondered for a moment what Brogan would have done had he declined. Stiger was now committed on a path of revenge, just as Braddock had vowed against the Cyphan.

  The last of the mules passed them, each led by a legionary, entering the tunnel one at a time. Behind them, they dragged along makeshift litters. The injured were having an uncomfortable ride, several calling out or groaning loudly with each bump. There was no helping that. Stiger saw Misty was amongst them, pulling a gravely injured dwarf who was mercifully unconscious. Father Thomas came next, walking just behind the last mule.

  “Father,” Stiger greeted, “how are the wounded?”

  “I’d rather not have moved some of them.” The paladin stepped aside to join them.

  “It was our chance to escape the trap Therik laid for us,” Stiger said.

  “At some point, I will need extended time with the wounded,” the paladin said. “I’ve bandaged and patched them up as best I could. Some of them need more, the High Father’s blessing.”

  “I see,” Stiger said.

  “I have refrained from healing anyone so far,” the paladin said. “Such blessings always take a toll. I don’t want to be napping when you need me most, especially if the orcs have a priest with them.”

  And there was the reason Father Thomas had refused Pixus. Stiger completely understood and agreed with the paladin’s decision. Though he had faced priests before with Rarokan, Stiger felt more comfortable with Father Thomas there by his side.

  “Can it wait a few hours?” Stiger’s thoughts drifted to the man with the family. He had checked in on the injured legionary, and for Merax it was a serious as Pixus had made it out to be. “I want to put several miles in before taking a break, gain as much ground as possible while we have the opportunity.”

  Brogan cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Though it pains me greatly to see suffering, I agree with the legate. When we can, Father, we will stop. Then you can tend to the wounded and give the High Father’s blessing as you see fit.”

  “What must be, will be,” Father Thomas said, quoting a line of scripture that Stiger recognized. “He who patiently waits will be rewarded.”

  The paladin gave an understanding nod that was filled with more than a little sadness. Without another word, Father Thomas started after the mules and the wounded. He disappeared into the black hole that was the entrance to the underground.

  “My boys and I will do what we can to delay the enemy,” Hogan said. “Hopefully, it will buy you another hour before they start working on the door. Maybe a little more if we get creative. I don’t have that many on hand to give it a more serious effort.”

  “Any time you can gain us is appreciated,” Brogan said.

  Stiger looked between the two dwarves, worried that Hogan was thinking of intentionally sacrificing himself for them. An hour gained was not much. Stiger didn’t see such a sacrifice for so short a time as worth it.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Merog said, perhaps reading Stiger’s concern. “Really, they’re more interested in you. With that said, I have no intention of allowing the orcs the satisfaction of looting my corpse. Or his.” Merog jerked a thumb over at Hogan. “Though if he fell in battle, it might improve his sunny disposition a little.” A grin played its way across the lieutenant’s face, the corners of his beard along the cheeks turning up as he looked over at his captain. “I’ve had my eyes on that dragon-bone dagger of yours for some time. I believe your grandfather brought it all the way from Tannis. When you die, can I have it?”

  Hogan rolled his eyes at his lieutenant, though Stiger did notice his hand drift protectively down to the hilt of the dagger. The gesture caused both Merog and Theo to chuckle. Brogan’s stern, angered expression cracked slightly.

  Clearly embarrassed, Hogan pulled his hand back and then turned to Stiger and Brogan.

  “We will make life difficult for them,” Hogan said. “When it becomes too much, my boys and I will melt back into the forest.”

  “It is what we do,” Merog said and gave a half shrug. “We’re good at it, too.”

  Stiger liked the thought of that much better. Scouts, such as Brogan’s pioneers, were not meant to fight in the line. They were more valuable being used as they were meant to be, the eyes and ears of the army, striking only in isolated spots when the odds favored them. Though he had thought poorly of Hogan and his pioneers, he silently wished them luck, for they would be left behind and there were a lot of orcs out in the forest.

  “Two hours would be better,” Brogan said.

  Merog glanced sharply at the thane. Hogan, however, did not bat an eye.

  “We will do what we can, My Thane,” Hogan said and then hesitated. “You should know, I have sent a messenger to Maas. It is only a day from here at best. Perhaps, they will be able send significant aid and meet you somewhere along the way.”

  Stiger noticed as Brogan stiffened. The thane, however, said nothing, which troubled Stiger.

  “Is that a dwarven city?” Stiger asked, wondering what the problem was. “Perhaps it makes more sense to go there first?”

  “It’s a town, and it is in the opposite direction from where you need to go,” Merog said. “From here, the only way to get to Maas is through thick forest. There are no trails. It would be very difficult on your men and easy for someone who is not familiar with this forest to become separated, turned around, and lost. Worse, the orcs would be nipping at your heels before the sun comes up, which is something we are trying to avoid by sending you into the tunnels.”

  “A single rider they will ignore,” Hogan added, “but certainly not the entire group. You stand a
better chance underground than you do above.”

  “Perhaps I am missing something,” Sabinus said. “If Maas is in the opposite direction, how will any aid from them reach us in time?”

  “There is a road, the As’ur’Ay,” Hogan said. “It is a smaller tributary that intersects the Kelvin about halfway to Old City. It is possible that my messenger will make it in time for the town to muster their militia. If they hurry, the militia just might be able to meet you along the way. That is, if they feel so inclined to help.”

  “What do you mean, if they feel inclined?” Stiger did not like the sound of that.

  “Gnomes.” Brogan spat on the ground. “Maas is a gnome town. Much of the land around Garand Kos belongs to the gnomes. It was one of the reasons we thought there would be little trouble from the orcs.”

  “Bloody gnomes,” Theo said with disgust.

  “Any help from them will cost me dearly in the future,” Brogan said, heaving a great sigh.

  “Will they come?” Sabinus asked. “They wouldn’t just ignore our need, would they?”

  “Who knows?” Theo said. “With gnomes you just never know what the little bastards are thinking. And trust me, you don’t want to know what goes on inside their heads. No one does and no one can figure them out.”

  “We’re giving them a chance to kill orcs,” Merog said. “Personally, I think they will jump at the opportunity. They will come. I will bet good coin on it.”

  “Possibly,” Hogan said. “As Theo said, it’s quite difficult to tell gnome thinking sometimes, but I thought it worth a try.”

  “Oh, they will come,” Merog insisted. “The little bastards hate orcs. The only question is whether they will arrive in time to help.”

  The rearguard marched up the road, Mectillius leading them. They looked tense, as if they were expecting orcs to explode from the darkness. Shields and swords were held at the ready. The optio started ordering the men to spread out, clearly intending to protect Stiger and the thane, until Stiger held up a hand stopping him.

  “Optio,” Stiger said, “get the men into the tunnel and down to the road. We will be along shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mectillius saluted and snapped out an order. The rearguard began to rapidly file their way into the tunnel. At the entrance, Mectillius stopped to look back a moment and then followed his men into the darkness, disappearing as if crossing over the veil of the living world and into that of the dead.

  Stiger knew it was time to go into the tunnels. He glanced up at the sky, seeing no stars, for the cloud layer was very low, thick, and dark. Thunder rumbled loudly for a long moment. It reminded Stiger briefly of the sound of a cavalry charge. He sucked in a deep breath, savoring the smell of the trees and fresh air. In moments, he would willingly plunge back into the cold, damp, and musty underground.

  A harsh horn ripped across the air. Stiger’s head came around, as did everyone else’s still outside the tunnel. The horn sounded a second time. It blared a long, mournful note, coming from the direction of the legionary encampment.

  Dog stood and growled, taking several steps forward.

  “Dog, stay,” Stiger snapped.

  Dog glanced back at him, then sat back down. Ears up, the animal continued his low growl.

  The horn sounded again. This time, the tune blown changed. It sounded more like a call to hunt.

  Stiger ground his teeth.

  “It seems, My Thane,” Theo said and extended an arm toward the tunnel entrance, “it is time to go.”

  “Very well,” Brogan said. He gave Hogan a look, nodded, and then stomped off toward the entrance to the underground. Theo turned as well, arching an eyebrow at Stiger.

  “You should go, too,” Theo said.

  “I will,” Stiger said. “In just a moment.”

  Theo shook his head slightly and made for the tunnel.

  “I will see you inside shortly,” Stiger said to Sabinus, dismissing the man.

  “Yes, sir.” Sabinus walked over and entered the tunnel, following after Brogan and Theo.

  A team of dwarves stood just inside. They looked anxious and were ready to close and seal the door. One motioned to Stiger to hurry. Stiger ignored him and turned back to the two pioneers.

  Hogan and Merog looked curiously at Stiger, clearly wondering why he had remained behind.

  “Hunt well.” Stiger held out his hand to Hogan.

  “Always,” Hogan said, taking the hand and shaking it vigorously. “Don’t you doubt that none.”

  “It is what we do,” Merog said with an infectious grin and shook as well. “We will buy you that hour, perhaps a little more, before they start working at breaking that door down. Just make sure our thane gets back to safety. Will you? He is not of my clan, but I respect and love him as if he were.”

  “I will,” Stiger said.

  “With any luck,” Hogan said, turning to look over the stone door, “you will have four—” Thunder rumbled loudly again. When it subsided, the captain continued. “You will have four . . . maybe six hours, if it rains, before they can break through and come after you.”

  “That should give us the start we need,” Stiger said. “Take care.”

  “Always,” Merog said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Stiger gazed once more out into the darkness. Garand Kos, First City, lay shrouded in darkness and hidden from view. Once again, the great city was lost to his people. No one would ever truly believe he had been here. Stiger let his hands fall to his sides. He stepped away, walking rapidly through the entrance and once again back into the underground.

  “Dog, come.”

  Dog trotted after him, rapidly catching up.

  Once inside and clear of the door, he turned back to look. Hogan and Merog had not wasted any time. Both pioneers were gone. Like wraiths, they had melted away into the darkness. It reminded Stiger of Eli and his friend’s skill at concealment. He felt a pang of loss for his good friend. Stiger wished Eli were here with him now, for he could use the elf’s help.

  One of the dwarves threw back the hood of a lantern. In the darkness of the tunnel, the abrupt light seemed awfully bright. Stiger wondered for a moment if the enemy could see it up on the ridge, but then realized that with all of the vegetation outside in the forest, such a thing would be very unlikely.

  “Push,” one of the dwarves shouted to the others. As one, grunting and straining, the team of four dwarves pushed. Each had a hand on a thick metal bar meant for gripping, set on the inside of the door. The hinges screeched painfully as the door slowly began to inch and grind its way closed. Stiger glanced around. Nearly everyone else had already made their way down through the tunnel to the road below, including Brogan.

  Stiger stood there with Dog and watched. He wanted see the door closed. He needed to be sure that the entrance was sealed and locked. It was irrational, he knew. Still, knowing it had been done would make him feel better. It would be one less worry weighing him down. So he waited and looked on as the door screeched and ground its way closed, one painful inch at a time.

  Curiously, Theo had remained behind as well. Their eyes met briefly and then returned to the door.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the screeching ceased with a heavy thud as the door finally closed. Sweating and grunting with effort, the dwarves picked up the heavy locking bar and dropped it in place. It landed with a deep, solid clang that echoed and reverberated through the underground like a funeral bell tolling for the recently deceased.

  Listening to the echoes as they raced off into the tunnels, Stiger thought the tolling might be instead for the soon-to-be deceased. Had they just sealed themselves in their tomb? He certainly hoped not.

  The team of dwarves took a slight breather, then began gathering up their weapons and shields, clearly preparing to join their fellows down upon the road. One picked up the lantern and held it forth for light.

  Stiger absently rested his hand upon his sword hilt, feeling the comforting electric tingle move lightning fast from his pal
m up into his arm. The darkness receded as lantern light brightened, almost painfully so. With it, he felt his anger flare.

  Let them come, Rarokan thundered in his mind, for I am hungry, angry, and more than ready to spill blood.

  “Let them come,” Stiger said softly to himself. He turned and started down the tunnel, the team of dwarves and Theo following after him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  One of the many magical lanterns lighting the road hung just overhead. It shed pale, ethereal light downward upon the resting men and dwarves. Sitting with his back against the tunnel wall, Stiger chewed on a piece of salted pork. It was tough, overly dry, and too salty for his tastes. The worst part about salted meat was that after you ate it, it tended to make you incredibly thirsty. On a hard march, thirst was something you generally wanted to do without.

  Back armor scraping against the tunnel wall, Stiger shifted slightly, attempting to make himself just a little more comfortable. He had called a break a short while before, their first since returning to the underground. They would remain here for five hours and then push onward.

  No one was up and about. Most had their backs against the walls of the road. A few had literally dropped their kits and fallen to the ground, immediately going to sleep, using their packs or arms for a pillow.

  Stiger did not blame them in the slightest. They had had no sleep for well over a day. They were dog-tired.

  As he chewed, he looked around. Most were asleep. A few, like him, were taking the opportunity to eat before surrendering and settling in to sleep. He would have pushed on farther, but the men were nearly blown. Heck, he was just as blown, and they had a long way to go. Everyone needed rest.

  Worse, one of the wounded had expired a couple of hours past. Merax had succumbed to his wounds. Stiger felt terrible about that, but there had been no helping it. He resolved to check in on the man’s daughter and wife once they made it back to the legion. Life was hard enough as a camp follower and even worse without a husband or patron. He would do what he could to ensure they did not unduly suffer over his loss.

  Father Thomas had warned that if they did not stop, more of the gravely wounded would die if not tended to. So Stiger had reluctantly called their first extended break.