The Tiger's Time

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  What was he missing?

  Stiger felt a vibration through his boots. He looked over at Salt and their eyes met in question. The platform trembled, and then shook. Stiger reached for the railing to keep himself upright.

  “Look,” Salt shouted, pointing behind them.

  Stiger turned.

  Sian Tane had stood, wings extending outward. The dragon, jaws bared, took a couple of menacing steps forward toward them. The tower shook with each massive footfall. The dragon’s gaze was fixed upward at the sky.

  Just then, a flash of bluish light from above lit up the entire field. It was almost like a lightning bolt had slashed across the sky, but somehow Stiger understood it wasn’t. He looked up and blinked. The moon’s outline could just be seen behind a cloud. A large, dark shape emerged from the cloud, streaking downward toward the battlefield.

  It was hard to make out its form, but Stiger knew what it was. A cry from the creature above confirmed it. Then he saw another emerge from the cloud, just behind the first, and his heart clenched in fear. They were diving toward his line. The second screamed an animal cry of rage.

  “Great gods,” Salt breathed.

  The wyrms had arrived. There was absolutely nothing Stiger could do about it. There had been no warning, nor was there any order he could give that could stop what was to happen as the two wyrms dove down towards the battlefield.

  All fighting had ceased, as every eye looked skyward. There was yet another cry. This one was much louder and deeper, and sounded, at least to Stiger’s ears, more ferocious. The cloud before the moon seemed almost to part as a truly massive shape plunged down through it and toward the two wyrms, both of which were much smaller. It was Currose, and she had a tremendous speed advantage over the two wyrms.

  Like a great bird of prey, she extended her talons to strike and closed on the rearmost wyrm. The smaller dragon attempted to turn, but it was too late. The two forms merged, and then a terrible, agonized screech filled the air as they collided. Stiger could almost imagine Currose’s talons sinking in as she struck the wyrm, powerful claws plunging through skin and muscle, forming a death grip on the smaller dragon.

  The stricken wyrm snaked its head around and blew a stream of fire on Currose. The noctalum’s head shot forward through the flame and her jaws clamped down on the wyrm’s neck, just beneath the head. The fire immediately ceased. The wyrm twisted in Currose’s grip and managed to free itself from her jaws, but not her talons. Ripping and tearing at each other with their talons and teeth, both dragons began to tumble in a death dance, twisting in the air as they hurtled straight down toward the ground.

  A dark shape flashed overhead, causing Stiger, Salt, and Therik to duck. It was accompanied by the beat of massive, leathery wings. A blast of wind knocked Stiger backwards onto the railing of the platform. A massive black tail the width of a hundred-year-old oak tree snaked after, coming within three feet of the tower. Sian Tane gave his wings an enormous beat just above the defensive line, knocking men flat. The gust of wind threw orcs off their scaling ladders and to the ground. Sian Tane beat at the air again, arcing upward towards the other wyrm.

  The wyrm, traveling downward at a fast clip and apparently seeing the noctalum coming for it, had a change of heart. It abruptly banked away to the south, flapping its wings rapidly to gain speed and altitude before the noctalum could catch up.

  There was a tremendous thud from behind the tower as something massive hit the ground hard. The tower swayed dangerously with the impact. Stiger held onto the railing for dear life, and for a moment thought it might go over. Then the swaying stopped.

  He looked around.

  Several hundred yards behind them, something had crashed down in the forest. He knew it must have been the two dragons. Yet even with the dim moonlight, he couldn’t see much, for it was concealed by the trees. Silence settled across the battlefield, almost as if orc and human alike held their collective breaths.

  A tree snapped and another crashed to the ground as something in the trees moved, shifting about. One of the dragons roared. The other replied in a high-pitched screech. The sickening sounds of ripping and tearing could be heard. A titanic struggle, hidden by the trees, was underway. The ground shook violently. Trees snapped and crashed to the ground. There were screams, cries, grunts, and what sounded like the snapping of jaws.

  A gout of dragon flame illuminated a large form as it set more than a dozen trees on fire. Another blast of flames set more afire. The flames lit up the struggle between the wyrm and dragon. It was a ferocious fight, with no thought toward mercy or quarter. They clawed at one another, biting, tearing, and ripping. There was a brilliant flash of light, like lightning, a deafening scream of rage followed by another longer jet of flame. This was followed by another flash, this time of greenish light. There was a concussive boom.

  The tower shook again as something heavy fell to the ground. Then there was silence. Amidst the burning trees, Stiger saw movement, but no more fighting.

  Who had won?

  Currose reared up, stretching out her wings and extending her head toward the sky. The great dragon roared what sounded to Stiger like exultation at her victory and kill. It was awesome, terrible, deafening, and frightening all at the same time.

  You have been blessed this day, puny mortals. You have witnessed the might of the noctalum, a powerful voice said, and Stiger realized it was in his head. Currose was speaking to them all. The filthy wyrm is dead.

  She roared again, then leapt up into the air, wings beating with incredible force. With a series of great flaps, she began to circle, gaining altitude. Currose climbed higher and higher with each flap of her massive wings. Stiger could see large droplets of blood fall from her body as she clawed her way up into the sky.

  In the distance, to the south, there was another roar. Stiger had forgotten about Sian Tane. He must still be chasing the other wyrm. Every eye along the field was fixated on Currose as she climbed higher. She extended her wings outward, catching a draft of air and holding it. She seemed to hang in space for a long moment, before banking and diving for the ground. Picking up speed, she flew just above the trees of the burning forest before turning south.

  Stiger felt a terrible gnawing fear overcome him. The dragon skimmed the ground, closing the distance toward the tower with frightful speed. The fear was awful. It drove him to his knees, and he had to hold onto one of the supports of the platform to keep himself upright. Out of his peripheral vision, Stiger saw that Therik and Salt were similarly affected.

  All Stiger wanted to do was press himself to the platform floor and find a place to hide. He even considered throwing himself to the ground in search of safety. It was shameful, he knew, but his mind wasn’t being rational. Then the dragon shot by the tower, so close he felt the wind of her passage. There was an explosion of flame and heat, then suddenly the fear was gone.

  Stiger shakily stood up. Illuminated by fire from below, the dragon began flapping her wings, beating at the air again, gaining altitude as she flew over the river. In her wake, hundreds of orcs burned in the bowl. They were being consumed alive by the dragon fire, which was an odd bluish color. Stiger could feel the intense heat radiate at him. Everyone on the battlefield had been stunned into immovable shock.

  A flash of green light arced up toward Currose from across the river as she flew over the far bank and the enemy’s camp. It was a mere dart of green light and it missed, disappearing into the clouds. Another flash reached up from the same spot and struck her. Briefly the dragon was surrounded by a greenish tinge of fire, illuminating the noctalum against the night sky. It dissipated rapidly. She continued to beat her wings, perhaps a little quicker than before, gaining even more altitude.

  Another dart of light shot up at her. She banked to the left and it missed. Stiger realized Castor’s priests were attacking the noctalum. Currose responded with a roiling fireball of her own, which streaked toward the ground with frightful rapidity. It exploded on the spot where the darts had
emanated. The sound of the explosion reached them a moment later as a deep crump.

  There were no more darts of greenish light after that. Currose flew higher, traveling south after her mate Sian Tane. Then, she was into the clouds and lost from sight.

  The dragon fire in the bowl continued to burn. The shrieks of the dead and dying filled the air, but beyond that, utter silence reigned across the battlefield. Everyone was stunned by what they had just witnessed.

  “Show’s over! Push those bloody ladders off the wall,” a lone voice rang out from below. It shattered the massed silence. “You’re all standing around with your cocks in your hands, you dumb bastards. Now do as I bloody say, or so help me, I will start handing out charges! Who wants punishment detail?”

  The call was picked up by other centurions along the line, and within moments the air was filled with shouts and orders from both sides. A horn across the river sounded. Another joined it. To Stiger, it didn’t sound like a horn call to retreat, but to advance. And that was just what the orcs did, throwing themselves once again into the effort to overcome the fortified line—but, Stiger thought, with less gusto.

  Regardless, the fight was back on.

  Stiger shot a glance over at Therik. The orc gripped the railing tightly, his gaze fixed upon the south, where Currose had disappeared into the clouds.

  “Well,” Salt said to the orc, “you wanted to see the dragon do something. Now you have. What do you think?”

  “Is not something you see every day,” Therik said.

  “You can say that again,” the prefect said, gazing over into the bowl at the orcs who had been killed by dragon fire. Their bodies still burned as the dragon fire consumed itself. The stench of burned flesh was nearly overpowering. “I wish the dragon had done more before flying off.”

  “She goes to help her mate,” Stiger said.

  “The enemy is here, sir,” Salt said. “The dragon could have burned a few more before leaving. It would have been nice to even the odds a little more.”

  “Wyrms,” Stiger said to himself, wondering where the other two wyrms were. Thoggle had told him there were four, and yet only two had shown themselves.

  “What?” Salt looked over at him in confusion.

  Stiger realized he was missing something.

  “What did you say a moment ago?” Stiger asked, a thought hitting him.

  “I was saying that the fight was here, sir,” Salt said. “The dragon could have done more.”

  A cold feeling stole over Stiger. He turned his gaze across the river toward the enemy’s staging positions. He could see thousands of campfires twinkling in the distance, but not the enemy themselves. He tried to recall if he had seen any of the enemy across the way as the fireball had hit the ground. Oddly, the fire had immediately extinguished itself upon contact.

  The gloom of the night had begun to give way a little. Stiger wondered if the sword could lighten things up for him to see a bit more. His hand slid to the sword. The familiar tingle ran up his arm. He could not see the enemy army. All he saw were the fires, which he had seen before. Everything else had lightened considerably. He could see down into the bowl and across the river like it was daylight, but as his eyes traveled farther toward the enemy camp, all that was visible were the fires. Something was amiss.

  The priests conceal something, Rarokan said.

  “I’ve been a fool,” Stiger said.

  “What?” Salt stepped nearer, as did Therik.

  “Across the river,” Stiger said, “much of their army is gone.”

  “But I can see their fires,” Salt said, “and they are still before us, with another formation coming across the bridge now, sir.”

  Stiger looked down into the bowl. It was packed with orcs, almost shoulder to shoulder. Another fresh formation of orcs was indeed marching its way across the bridge. Despite that, Stiger knew he was right. Only a few thousand had been left to fix his attention. The minion had made its move, and that was different than how Stiger knew this battle had played out.

  “My people are not dumb animals,” Therik said, which only confirmed Stiger’s supposition.

  “Apparently, not,” Stiger said. He began pacing the small platform, thinking furiously. He was sure the enemy army had come across the river. But why had he not received any word from the scouts? After several moments, he stopped and looked to Therik and Salt.

  “I am certain the enemy has bridged the river themselves. They are somewhere downriver, either crossing or already crossed,” Stiger said. “Had they been upriver, the messenger from Sabinus would have spotted them.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” Salt sounded doubtful. “I would think we would have gotten some word of that if it had occurred. We have scouts out downriver.”

  “I am certain,” Stiger said, now wishing he had kept more of his cavalry back for patrols. “This is the situation as I see it and our options. Much of Sabinus’s force is already across. Brogan is likely at the crossing and waiting to go over. We can disengage here and pull back to the mountain. The only problem with that is it would potentially allow for Brogan’s army and our boys to be cut off and isolated.” Stiger pointed out into the bowl. “With much of their army gone and somewhere downriver, we could go over to the attack, push into the bowl, and destroy the forces before us, then turn to face whatever is coming.”

  “Attack, sir?” Salt asked, sounding extremely skeptical.

  “Yes,” Stiger said. “I would like your thoughts.”

  “Sir,” Salt said, “we don’t even have confirmation that the enemy crossed yet.”

  “I know,” Stiger said. “I am certain it will come shortly. I would like your thoughts for when it does.”

  “Pulling back to mountain is mistake,” Therik said.

  “He’s right,” Salt said and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “If what you say is true, sir, we’ve already split our army and put ourselves at great risk. It will take time to get the flanking expedition back to our side of the river. Should we retreat to the mountain, Brogan and Sabinus would surely be left hanging out in the open and cut off. They would be destroyed. Attacking out into the bowl is also a mistake. If we did, and succeeded, our boys would be blown and in poor shape for a second fight. We could also find ourselves in a bad position when the enemy arrives.”

  “Go on,” Stiger said. So far, he agreed with everything Salt had said.

  “There is another possibility, though,” Salt continued. “We could pull back to our fortified encampment, recall Brogan and Sabinus. It will take them several hours to get Sabinus’s men back to our side and organized. Repositioning an army and moving it about takes time. The flanking expedition is nearly twenty-five thousand strong. We have almost ten thousand here. There is a good chance the enemy does not know Brogan is close, nor that we’ve detached a force. We allow the enemy to attack us, and when their attention is completely fixed on the encampment, Brogan can strike.”

  “There won’t be time to bring the artillery with us,” Stiger said, considering the idea. It had merit. The enemy likely thought Brogan was still in Old City. There would not have been time for them to learn otherwise. The more he thought on it, the more he liked the idea. “We would only have the walls of the encampment for defense.”

  “The walls of the encampment are good,” Salt said. “They are shorter in length than the line we currently occupy. We will be able to better concentrate our defense, which will make it easier to withstand an assault by a superior force.”

  “I like that idea. All of our supplies are here,” Stiger said. “If we pull back to the mountain, we give that up to the enemy, and we know they only have enough food to last them a week, maybe a little longer. That would allow the enemy to extend their operations for months and then they could take their time at doing whatever they wish.”

  “Another option is to go join Brogan’s army and meet the enemy on an open field of battle,” Salt said. “But that would mean giving up the supplies.”

  “If w
e do that,” Stiger said. “We might get cut off from the mountain ourselves with no supply.”

  Stiger did not much like the idea of giving up their supplies. The encampment was a quarter mile to the rear, at the edge of the forest, which was on fire. It sat along the road that led to the entrance to the mountain. The more Stiger thought on that idea, the more he liked it. The tricky part would be disengaging here.

  “What do you think?” Stiger asked Therik.

  “Me?” Therik asked. “You want opinion?”

  “Yes,” Stiger said.

  “I like his idea,” Therik pointed to Salt. “I think it work. Walls of encampment strong enough to hold for some hours. No way minion or priests know yet Brogan’s army close. He surprise and ambush and then we attack. You give me sword and I help.”

  “How many men do you think we will need to hold the line?” Stiger asked Salt. “We will have to leave a force here to hold for a time, at least long enough to get the bulk of the legion on the way to the encampment.”

  Salt rested his hands upon the railing and studied the action below. He was silent for a several heartbeats.

  “At least the first rank of each cohort,” Salt said. “It will be tricky to pull off, sir. They will need to disengage from the line and come together at a common point before withdrawing. That way it makes it less likely one portion of the line doesn’t get isolated and cut off. And if it does, we can go to their aid as a cohesive force.”

  “That makes sense,” Stiger said. “Once the enemy gains the wall, the rear guard will need to move quickly. How difficult that movement will be is a question ultimately left up to our enemy. Once over the barricade, the quicker the enemy becomes organized, the harder it will be on our rearguard.”

  “That is true, sir,” Salt said. “As I said, it will be tricky.”

  “What do you think?” Stiger asked Therik.

  Therik held his hands up as if to say he did not know. But then apparently reconsidered. “They below are tired and be slow to follow. But I think they also be careful. You hurt them good. They might think trap. You not have as difficult a time as you think.”