The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Theo walked up, coming from the direction of the pass.

  “That was some climb,” the dwarf said, wiping his brow with a small white towel. “I can see why my people don’t often visit here . . . well, that and there being a temple to a dark god in this valley. Makes this place not too terribly inviting, if you know what I mean.”

  Stiger said nothing.

  Theo frowned and stroked his beard as he regarded Stiger.

  “You may not know the word yet, but Forkham in dwarven means forsaken,” Theo said, using the common tongue for forsaken.

  Stiger shot Theo an unhappy look.

  “You’ve captured the valley,” Theo said, his gaze falling on the temple. “Do you really plan on razing all of this?”

  “We’re going to pull it all down,” Stiger confirmed and felt a thrill of expectation.

  “How long will that take? That temple is much larger than I imagined. It also looks exceptionally well-constructed, and there are a goodly number of buildings. This all seems like an awful lot of work.”

  “We will remain here until the job is finished.”

  Send this fool away, Rarokan said. Or kill him. I can tolerate his incessant ramblings no more.

  “Excuse me,” Stiger said in a cold tone, for he too had grown weary of Theo’s company. “I have things that need tending to.”

  He walked off, leaving Theo staring after him.

  Over the following hours, Stiger walked through the town as it was systematically looted and destroyed. His escort followed at a respectful distance. Head hung low, Dog trailed along behind him. The sound of demolition was heavy on the air, as thousands of legionaries worked diligently at it. Utilizing ropes, hooks, and horse and mule power, buildings were pulled down. Others, too large to be easily demolished, were set on fire.

  The light from the burning buildings lit up the small valley, driving back the darkness of the night. The firelight was so bright, Stiger could see orcs high up on the slopes, gathered in small groups. They were watching the legionaries work. The heat from numerous fires warmed the air, almost uncomfortably so, but at the same time it kept the cold at bay.

  Stiger inhaled too much smoke and coughed as a light gust of wind swirled smoke around him. He glanced up at the orcs. There were dozens he could see. How many more were out there? What were they feeling? Was it anger and rage? Despair and suffering? Were their loved ones Stiger’s prisoners? The thought gave him the briefest spark of warmth and happiness.

  They suffer, Rarokan hissed, not as you . . . but they suffer just the same.

  “I hope they do, for this is only the beginning,” Stiger said to himself. “I want them to feel the pain, the loss, and the anguish at losing all they care about.”

  We will make them suffer.

  Returning to the square, Stiger looked over at the temple, which was being saved for last. The thought of that house of evil coming down made Stiger feel good. Not only was he striking a blow at Castor, but he was also doing the world a service. He almost couldn’t wait for the destruction to begin. At the same time, he did not wish to rush it. Stiger was thoroughly enjoying himself. He did not want it to end.

  The prisoners were being held in a large field. He decided he wanted to see them and made his way over. An entire cohort was standing guard over the prisoners, huddled together in a frightened mass. There was a surprising amount of crying and wailing. It sounded all too familiar for comfort—almost human.

  Stepping through the ring of legionaries guarding them, Stiger scratched at the scar on his cheek as he looked upon the prisoners. These wretches were not what he had expected. It was as Sabinus had said. The males were nothing like the warriors he had fought against. These looked small and puny, weak even. They were pathetic. Stiger found the sight of the prisoners very displeasing, nothing at all like he had imagined.

  Don’t let them fool you, Rarokan said. They are the enemy. They are orcs. Creatures like these burned Sarai.

  Stiger’s rage grew fiery hot. His hand reached down to the sword hilt and gripped it tightly. Rarokan was correct. These creatures deserved no pity, no comfort, and certainly no mercy. By worshiping an evil god, they had earned death. They had made their choice and so had Stiger.

  “Sir, can I help you?”

  Stiger blinked, snapping out of what seemed like a trance. He shook himself and looked over to find a centurion at his side. He did not know the man’s name. Likely, this man was the senior officer of the cohort set to guard the prisoners. The centurion’s gaze darted down to Stiger’s hand. Stiger glanced downward and found he had half drawn his sword. He slid it back until the guard clicked solidly against the scabbard.

  “No, I don’t need any help,” Stiger said. “I thought I would look upon our enemy.”

  The centurion turned his head to gaze at the prisoners.

  “They don’t seem that fierce, do they, sir?” the centurion said, with a look of disgust and revulsion. “Not like the bastards that tested the walls last night. It’s almost as if these are a different race.”

  “Don’t let your guard down,” Stiger said. “They are the enemy. Make no mistake about that.”

  “We won’t, sir,” the centurion said.

  “Good,” Stiger said. “Carry on, then.”

  “Yes, sir.” The centurion saluted.

  Stiger took a last look at the crying and wailing wretches and then turned his back. He walked toward the temple, his escort following along behind. Tail hanging low, Dog padded silently by his side.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Stiger asked the animal. “We’ve taken an orc town and Castor’s temple. We’re doing good work today. So, I ask you, why so blue?”

  Dog looked up at Stiger as they walked, gave a whine, and then resumed his sniffing at the ground. If the animal were human, Stiger would have described Dog’s mood as despondent, depressed even.

  Stiger put the animal from his mind as they arrived back in the town square. He was pleased to see work had finally begun on the temple. Much of the town had already been destroyed; the fires were even beginning to die down. Only a handful of buildings remained standing. He looked up at the temple. Men were on the roof, throwing ropes down to those below. Several ropes had already been secured to one of the corner columns, and a team of horses had been run up.

  Looking upon the work in progress, Stiger saw no need to go inside. It was a temple to a dark god, one that desired nothing more than to end his life. As Stiger watched, more ropes were tied in place around the columns and in some spots hammered in with nails. Stiger watched the men work. Not only were legionaries skilled at building, but they were just as competent at destruction. It took no more than an hour’s work to prepare the temple for demolition.

  Father Thomas found him as the temple was cleared of men. A pair of centurions entered, checking to make sure no one was still inside. Stiger could hear their muffled shouts for everyone to get out. There were no replies.

  As Father Thomas came up, Dog gave a soft whine but did not leave Stiger’s side to greet the paladin.

  “It took me a while to find you,” Father Thomas said.

  Stiger remained silent. He did not feel like talking, especially with the paladin.

  “I made sure the men going into the temple took nothing and, more importantly, touched nothing,” the paladin said and then chuckled. “I think I scared them something awful with my talk on what evil might befall them.”

  “Good,” Stiger said. “Better safe than sorry.”

  They stood in silence for a bit.

  “I am uncomfortable with this,” the paladin said.

  “Oh?” That surprised Stiger, and he looked over at the paladin.

  “You aren’t concerned?” Father Thomas gave him a funny look. “I find that surprising.”

  “Castor means me ill. I am only returning the favor.”

  “I was speaking of walking in Delvaris’s footsteps,” Father Thomas said and held out his arms toward the temple. “You are doing what we k
now your ancestor did, which is really what needs to happen to set things right. But I am uncomfortable with it just the same.”

  Stiger thought for a moment and then shook his head.

  “I am done worrying about that.”

  Father Thomas’s expression became grave. “Explain what you mean.”

  “Castor has done his worst. He can do no more to hurt me.”

  Father Thomas regarded Stiger for several heartbeats before responding. “I do not believe I like the implications of that.”

  Send him away, Rarokan hissed. Send the meddling paladin packing. We don’t need him. You only need me.

  There was a tiny voice in Stiger’s head that cried out a warning in protest. Stiger ignored the voice.

  “I don’t care what you think,” Stiger snapped and then, with effort, calmed himself. “If you will excuse me, I would like to supervise the destruction of this vile temple.”

  Stiger began to walk away.

  “I don’t think I will excuse you, my son,” Father Thomas said in a quiet tone.

  Stiger turned back to the paladin, angered by the interference. Was he going to try to stop the temple’s demolishment?

  “My son, you should not throw your life away.”

  “Is that what you think I intend?” Stiger paused, the rage bubbling over. He laughed in the paladin’s face. “Let me tell you what I am going to do.” Stiger pointed a shaking finger at the temple. “I am going to make them pay for what they have done. I am going to send Castor a message. My dispatch will include the souls of all the orcs I can find. And when I run out, I am going to find more to forward on to the dark god. I am going to kill every last one of his followers. It will become the mission of my life. No”—Stiger shook an index finger up in the air—“let me correct that. It has become my mission.”

  Father Thomas took an unsteady step backwards.

  “This valley is but a starting point,” Stiger continued. His blood was up. “What we do here, now, will send more orcs into Vrell. Hopefully, Therik will bring his army and the minion will come along. When I break Therik and defeat the minion, only then I shall begin my hunt, my purpose. There will be no cave, no tunnel, no mountain, no hole deep enough, nor any barrier that stops me. I will do our world a service by removing every last orc. I shall have my revenge and then some.”

  “My son,” Father Thomas said, “there is more at stake than just revenge.”

  “Is there?” Stiger asked. “For me, there is nothing more important. Everything that was dear to me has been snatched away.”

  Stiger’s anger burned incredibly hot. He understood the sword was helping to stoke it. He did not care. In fact, he welcomed it. The rage gave him purpose and made him feel something other than loss and sorrow.

  Open yourself up to me, Rarokan said. Allow me to complete the bond. Do it now, before the paladin can stop us.

  He knew what he needed to do, for Rarokan showed him. It was so simple. Why had he not done it before now? All the wizard was asking him to do was a relaxing of his will. Stiger closed his eyes and did as instructed. He opened himself up fully, inviting Rarokan into his being.

  The wizard’s will flooded inward. The power was intoxicating, exhilarating. It filled him with strength and so much more. Stiger felt powerful. He felt a tingling in his fingers and opened his eyes. Tiny, almost invisible blue sparks jumped from finger to finger. He knew he could control the raw energy with a thought and simple flick of his wrist. Until this moment, he had not known what he felt each time he touched the hilt of his sword. It was will, the wizard’s power source.

  Is this what a wizard feels?

  Yes.

  The fires from the burning buildings had mostly died down. The dimming firelight cast long shadows about the base of the valley. With Rarokan’s power thundering through his veins, the darkness retreated nearly in its entirety. It almost seemed like a dawning day, as the power continued to flow from the sword, filling the great gaping hole in his soul.

  Stiger felt more energetic than he had in days. The aches and pains from the riding and marching were gone, as if they’d never been. The soreness that had come with wearing his armor had vanished. The tiredness from lack of sleep had disappeared. Stiger felt as if he were a man ten years younger.

  “This isn’t about revenge,” Father Thomas said, snapping Stiger back to reality. The paladin was looking at him, as if seeing Stiger for the first time. “This should be about service, faith, and duty.”

  “I am done with that,” Stiger said harshly. “I’ve given my life to service. What has it gotten me?”

  Nothing, Rarokan answered. Don’t let him distract you. Continue to embrace the flow, let it shape you, mold you. The bond, the merging, is almost complete. Together we become stronger, more powerful. Together we shall get revenge.

  “Your service has gotten you much,” Father Thomas said, anger clouding his voice. “You have been blessed by the High Father. You are almost first amongst men. I beg you, do not throw away what favor you have earned.”

  “Favor?” Stiger fairly roared at the paladin. His escort looked over with concern. Stiger ignored them. “People have been telling me I have been gods blessed. It’s more like I’ve been gods cursed. Do you know how many friends and companions I’ve lost along the way? Do you know how many have died on my orders? And I did this all in the name of service!”

  “How many more have you saved?” the paladin countered.

  Stiger felt himself frown at that.

  Father Thomas did have a point. He had saved a great number over the years, but at the same time he had lost those he cared for. That was painful. Worse, the woman he had come to love was gone. Where before he felt devotion, love, and kindness toward the High Father, now he felt nothing but a dull void.

  Thoggle and Father Thomas had arranged for him to fall in love. This was their fault. The paladin was directed by the High Father. So, in a way, not only had Castor taken Sarai from him, but so too had the god Stiger honored. The High Father bore a portion of the blame.

  Good. Now you begin to understand, Rarokan said. Only now do you see how they manipulate and use others for their own selfish purposes. Together we can end this. With your spark and my ability, we can become as powerful as the gods and set things right.

  “This is about losing Sarai,” Father Thomas said. “You are hurting. I know that.”

  “What do you know?” Stiger spat at him. “What do you know about loss?”

  “More than you can possibly understand,” Father Thomas said, anger roiling his voice.

  He knows nothing, Rarokan hissed and Stiger felt a renewed wave of anger and hate bubble up. Send him on his way. Stop wasting time with this fool.

  “Bah,” Stiger waved a hand at the paladin.

  “You are grieving,” Father Thomas said. “I forgive you for what you have said.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Stiger said. “We will seek our revenge. That is all that matters now.”

  “We?”

  There was a loud creaking, followed by a tremendous crash behind them. One of the columns of the temple had been pulled outward. It slammed to the ground with earthshaking force. Stiger felt the hard impact through his boots. A cloud of dust and dirt was kicked up into the air. The building groaned. He had not been paying attention and missed the start of the destruction. That pissed him off.

  He shot an unhappy glare at the paladin and then turned to look fully on the temple. Teams of horses strained at their harnesses. Men shouted to one another as they worked. Whips cracked at the horses. What had likely taken years to construct and had stood for an age came down in less time than it took to eat a chicken dinner.

  The roof and most of the other columns fell after three of the corner columns were pulled outward to the ground. With a crash and deep rumble, the numerous columns began to crack and then fall, knocking one after another over until the entire building fell down, kicking up a larger and far greater cloud of dust. The noise of it was near
ly deafening.

  At first Stiger could not see the result, then the dust began to settle. The satisfaction within his breast grew. The temple now looked much like it had when he’d last seen it in the future, a complete ruin.

  Centurions began shouting orders. Further work at pulling down what remained of the structure ceased. Only six columns still stood, as did a small portion of the roof attached to them. Part of the back wall had also stayed upright. A handful of officers, Sabinus amongst them, reentered the ruin of the temple, climbing over debris and fallen columns, clearly intent on inspecting the damage. Men with fresh ropes and hooks followed after them. The next effort would see the destruction completed. Everything was proceeding as planned.

  Stiger had enjoyed every moment of the temple’s demolition. Rarokan was getting just as much enjoyment. Stiger began to laugh. The tiny voice in the recesses of his mind told him something was wrong. At first, he wasn’t sure what it was. Then he knew. The laugh wasn’t his. It was Rarokan’s.

  What was going on? Stiger attempted to speak but could not.

  “You are mine,” Rarokan answered him in a triumphant tone. The wizard was speaking using Stiger’s voice. “As I prepared so very long ago, I have returned. You have given me everything. For that, I thank you!”

  No. Stiger suddenly understood what had happened. The thought of it horrified him. It was too late.

  Stiger was stunned. He was a prisoner in his own mind. His body was no longer his own. Rarokan had won.

  Rarokan took a hesitant step forward, as if he were relearning how to walk. He took another and laughed deeply, thoroughly enjoying the experience. Stiger attempted to stop him but could do nothing. Rarokan had complete control over his body. Stiger felt panic and fear.

  Then, Father Thomas gripped his upper arm.

  “No,” Rarokan roared and attempted to jerk Stiger’s arm free, but the paladin’s grip was incredibly firm. “You shall not take this from me!”

  Time seemed to stop as a feeling of ice cold exploded through him. The cold surged forth from where the paladin’s vice-like grip held his arm. It was met with fire and fury. Stiger cried out in agony, his vision going white as the paladin’s power hammered into him. Father Thomas met Rarokan in a shocking confrontation of will and power. The battlefield was his mind. There was a titanic struggle going on within him, for possession of his soul.