The Tiger (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 2)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Braddock recognized the voice as belonging to Hrove, chief of the Hammer Fisted clan. Hrove, in his prime, was more renowned for his cut-throat business dealings than his prowess on the field of battle. Braddock found him to be difficult and prickly, though surprisingly, Hrove regularly offered good policy advice. Braddock could easily guess to whom Hrove spoke.

  “And what is that?” Tyga, chief of the Rock Breakers, asked, anger lacing his tone.

  The silver mine in question had been the heart of a long-running disagreement between the two, one that bordered both of their clan territories. For years the dispute had regularly threatened to erupt into something more. If Braddock was not careful and did not manage it correctly, the disagreement could end up resulting in a blood feud between the two clans. The last thing he needed was to have two of his most powerful clans at each other’s throats.

  Tyga was the complete opposite of Hrove. He was strong and powerfully built, even for a dvergr. The chief of the Rock Breakers was well-known for his coolness on the battlefield and skill as a warrior. He lived strictly according to the Way, the code of honor passed down in scripture that all dvergr were required to follow. Tyga had purportedly never lost an honor duel. Such duels were frequently to the death and few held sufficient courage to challenge him.

  “Hot air,” Hrove said clearly, with the intention of provoking Tyga further. “It is just hot air.”

  “Hot air!” the raised voice of Tyga shot back incredulously with a laugh. “Hot air! You honorless dog!”

  Braddock shot a look to Garrack, who shrugged sympathetically. This was one battle that only the thane could fight. The argument between the two chiefs was just one of many that could be heard coming from inside the council chambers. Braddock rubbed the back of his neck in irritation.

  “Did you just call me a dog?” Hrove said. “You should speak! You smell worse than my hounds after they chase rats in the sewers!”

  “I should strike you down where you stand,” Tyga hissed and Braddock could hear chairs scrape back. If Hrove wasn’t careful, Tyga might issue a challenge, despite Braddock’s recent edict prohibiting such activities.

  The thane had heard enough. The two would likely resort to fists, and he could not allow it to come to that. This meeting was too important. He needed their attention, not a brawl. Braddock nodded to Garrack, who grinned at him, before stepping forward through the open double doors of the council chamber.

  “Braddock Uth’Kal’Thol,” Garrack called in a powerfully deep voice that instantly silenced the uproar. “Thane of the Mountains, Ruler of the Dvergr Nations, Blessed of the Gods and your liege lord!”

  Sighing heavily, Braddock drew back his shoulders and stepped through into the chamber. Both Braddock and Garrack had arrived dressed in their finest tunics, as had all the chiefs who were waiting for him. For a moment Braddock wished he had chosen to wear his ceremonial armor, as it would afford some basic protection.

  This council was being held in the Old City and like everything here, the chambers, located in the governmental complex, had long been abandoned. The once proud city, now little more than a crumbling ruin, dated back to a time before the clans had made the decision to withdraw from the wider world. Like so many others, the clans had quit this city in favor of sanctuary deeper into the mountains and away from the other races.

  Having been cut straight out of the heart of the mountain, the room itself was simple and rectangular-shaped. The dvergr preferred their governmental meeting places to be functional and utilitarian to better focus those charged with handling the people’s business. Public service was a sacred trust and governmental spaces were designed with an eye to remind public servants of that.

  Servants had thoroughly cleaned the room, though Braddock still detected a hint of mold and age. Three large, stout tables had been arranged in a U shape. The head table was placed so that Braddock held the commanding position at the bottom of the U and opposite the doors. Oil lamps in mirrored recesses set along the walls filled the room with an adequate supply of light.

  Chairs scraped as the nine clan chiefs and one gnome respectfully stood for their thane. The top of the gnome’s head barely made it to the tabletop and he had to rise up on his toes to get a better view.

  Large Councils were rarely, if ever, held. They were called only during times of crisis. Most day-to-day governmental issues were solved by the Small Council, which consisted of three chiefs and the thane. The chiefs served on a rotating basis, changing seats every four years to provide their guidance and support to the thane. This was the first time in three hundred years that the entire Large Council had been gathered and convened. Braddock could almost feel their excitement at being present for such a historic event. The last time had seen Braddock’s father preside over the noble body.

  Braddock stomped to his rightful place at the head of the table, all eyes critically studying him. Garrack followed closely behind his liege, eyes forward, with his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

  Braddock had been thane for the last fifty-five years and under his rule his people had prospered. But that prosperity had not stopped several of those attending from actively working to undermine his authority. Given the right opportunity, one or two might even seek to replace him. Coldly looking over his vassals, Braddock resolved not to give them that chance.

  He took a moment to glance around at his chiefs, each representing their clans. Braddock represented the Ironbound. Besides Hrove and Tyga, there was Agax of the Steelhands, Krieg of Stouthearts, Haggid of the Stone Anvil, Dagga of the Dotga, Vox of the Stone Breakers, Mahgdo of the Forge, and Kiello of the Bloody Axe.

  The chief of the Bloody Axe, strong and dignified in bearing, nodded in greeting to Braddock. The thane gave a curt nod in reply. Kiello’s clan had won its name during the most desperate of times in the last battles of the Gate War. Though he did not often speak unless he had to, Kiello was one of Braddock’s most ardent supporters. Unlike some of the others, he could be counted on to put the needs of the people ahead of his own.

  Several of the chiefs were blood enemies or their clans were involved in ongoing feuds. Much of this drama was brought to the thane’s attention, leading him to impose his will in an attempt to stop the bloodshed. Braddock felt that the constant infighting, honor duels and stubbornness were failings of his people. It held them back from achieving greater things. Unfortunately, whenever Braddock had been forced to intervene, no one ended up happy, least of all the thane.

  Braddock rested a calloused hand upon the hilt of his sword as he considered his chiefs. The heart of the problem was a prickly sense of self-honor or, as his people liked to call it, personal legend. Someone was always stepping on someone else’s honor, which led to bad feelings, hasty words, a brawl and, ultimately, an honor duel. Braddock almost spat in frustration, but managed to restrain himself. It would not do for his vassals to witness his disgust. His people needed a focus, some noble goal that through forced cooperation would keep them from bumping heads and working toward the common good, which in turn would lead to much greater personal legend.

  Though Tyga’s eyes were on his thane, for a moment they flicked over to Hrove. Tyga’s body language radiated with malevolent intent. Braddock caught it all and saw Hrove’s return look at Tyga. The wily chief actually winked at Tyga, which caused the other to go red in the face. The only thing that held Tyga back was the thane’s entrance.

  Why can they not see? Braddock asked himself. Where once there had been many clans, now there were just twelve. One resided across the Narrow Sea to the south. Another was rumored to be somewhere in the far north, but no one had heard from them in centuries. For all Braddock knew, the ten clans represented in this room might be the last of dvergr.

  The Gate War had decimated his people, leaving in its wake only a few thousand haggard survivors. The dvergr had barely managed to get through the tough times that had followed. Shattered, the remaining clans dispersed and abandoned the ruins of their once
proud cities, instead choosing to burrow beneath the mountains and beyond the reach of their enemies. For the most part, the dvergran nations had simply turned their backs upon the wider world and disappeared.

  Not one who lives today lived back then, Braddock thought, saddened. That is the real problem. To all dvergr the Gate War has become history, no longer even a living memory in the minds of the elderly.

  Since that forlorn time, the people had once again grown numerous and built proud cities. No longer did dvergran cities feel the touch of the sun. These were hidden deep within some of the most formidable of mountain ranges, locked away and isolated.

  What I do today I do for my children and their children yet to come.

  Braddock placed his fists upon the table and leaned forward, looking upon his vassals. His word was law and his call had gathered them here, some like Kiello having traveled over a thousand miles to attend. He had ordered a suspension of all such feuding, honor duels, and other nonsense, but that had not stopped them from bickering like old women. Their personal and clan honor was such that Braddock’s word kept their respective clans in peace, at least for the moment.

  “Winds of change are blowing,” the High Priest of Thulla, the god of the dvergr, had told Braddock prior to reading the auguries, which foretold of dire comings. Thinking on what had been revealed to him, Braddock alone understood this was no time for blood feuds, for a black cloud was upon his people and time was running out. His hand had been forced.

  Damn the Oracle and the strange prophecy she made when the Gate War ended.

  Braddock forced himself to relax and took a moment to look around the table, intentionally keeping his vassals standing expectantly. There was one empty place, next to the gnome. That was reserved for The Master. Braddock knew he should be offended the elderly wizard had not shown, but the distance was great and Thoggle’s health was slowly failing. It mattered little to Braddock that Thoggle had elected not to attend the Large Council. As long as the wizard showed up when he was needed was what counted. Some of those here would take Thoggle’s absence as a sign of weakness on their thane’s part.

  That, Braddock thought with heat, would be a mistake.

  The Thane of the Mountain finally sat. The clan chiefs waited a respectful half-second before taking their own seats, chairs grating on the stone flooring. Garrack, as Braddock’s chief aide, took up a position behind his thane and to the right. Some would say that Garrack was his chief advisor, the thane’s right hand. Such an assumption would have only been partly correct. No one other than Braddock and Thoggle knew of Garrack’s great responsibility and purpose, which had been passed down from father to son.

  Two members of Braddock’s household guard stepped into the room and closed the two ancient oak doors with a solid thud. The hinges, freshly oiled, did not make a sound. One of the guards locked the door with a key, which he then tucked into a pocket. The two guards took up positions on either side of the door, hands resting casually upon their sword hilts, ready to act if called upon to protect their thane. Their presence reinforced his strength but also his weakness.

  “We appreciate your willing attendance,” Braddock began. “It is my—”

  “You commanded our attendance,” the gnome spat in a high pitched voice that dripped with malice. The gnome was half the size of a fully grown dvergr and half as skinny, with mean black eyes, straight black hair and small, nimble fingers that never seemed idle.

  Though no one was particularly surprised, several of those present looked amused at the interruption, while others were appalled at the gnome’s behavior. One of Braddock’s guards took a menacing step forward, before Braddock waved him back. Had he not stopped him, the guard would have separated the gnome’s head from its shoulders, without a second thought.

  “Nevertheless, Cragg, your presence here is appreciated,” Braddock said evenly, keeping a tight leash on his temper. He had long years of experience working with gnomes and yet the mean little shits still managed to test his patience.

  “Is it?” Cragg asked in a mocking tone, small eyes fixed on Braddock in challenge.

  “It is,” Braddock said with steel, shooting the nasty-natured creature a scathing look that dared it to speak further. The guard took another step forward and started to draw his sword. This time, Braddock did nothing to intervene.

  Cragg, who seemed to have abruptly realized his peril, gave a respectful nod. Though caustic, Cragg, the leader for his people, had more common sense than most of his kind.

  “I am pleased to attend,” Cragg said, eyeing the guard carefully.

  Braddock felt relieved and waved his guard back. The thane loathed his gnomes, but at the same time respected them. As the gods had commanded, gnomes had long served the dvergran nations. They were an intelligent, industrious and, like his own, a very determined people. But by nature they were an ill-tempered lot.

  Killing one of the insolent bastards might feel good, but it never ever did any good. Once you dealt with one, another just as nasty would soon take the deceased’s place. Besides, Braddock had called the vile little creatures forth from their depths because he needed their help. If the dvergr were going to war, he was determined that the gnomes would be at his side, as was their rightful place.

  Braddock’s bodyguard gave the gnome an intense look before returning to his original position by the door. Gnomes were impossible to read. They only understood strength. Cragg watched the guard for a moment and then returned his attention to the thane.

  Braddock leaned forward, about to say more, when the lock clicked loudly and the ancient oak doors unexpectedly opened, swinging inward. Impossibly, someone had unlocked the doors from the other side. The guards whirled and reached for their swords in surprise, for no one was allowed admittance under pain of death.

  A small, scrawny, beardless, middle-aged dvergr stood before them, looking curiously into the council chamber. Dressed in the blackest of robes, he carried a thick wooden staff with a large chunk of oddly-formed purple crystal set atop. The guards, in spite of being hard-bitten veterans, fell back in disgust mixed with horror.

  Several of the chiefs sucked in their breath. Braddock shook his head with disgust at the sight of a beardless one. Voluntarily shaving one’s beard was considered one of the greatest sins a dvergr could ever commit. A long, uncut, neatly braided beard was a sign that one honored the gods, for it was commanded in the scriptures. Only criminals and cowards were ever forcefully shaved, announcing to all and the gods their eternal shame.

  Ogg, Thoggle’s apprentice, on the other hand, shaved of his own volition and he was neither a criminal nor a coward. Braddock knew this from personal experience. Though considered only an apprentice, he was a powerful wizard and thankfully one of only two amongst the dvergr nations. He was also extremely dangerous and unpredictable.

  “Ogg,” Garrack roared with displeasure, sparing his thane the indignity of having to address a beardless one. “I expect you to have a solid reason for this intrusion.”

  Ogg had stopped in the doorway. He had been sizing up Braddock’s guards. The wizard slowly tore his gaze from the guards to lock eyes with Garrack, a thin bitter smile playing across his beardless face, before shifting his look to Braddock. The Thane of the Mountains could almost read the madness in the wizard’s eyes, which seemed to be a curse that afflicted all of their kind who transgressed with magic and strange gods. Despite that, Braddock knew there could only be one reason Ogg was here.

  If it was as he suspected, Braddock feared that Thoggle had passed to the shades. If he had, as the only other wizard remaining among the dvergran nations, then the title of The Master had rightfully passed to Ogg.

  While Thoggle lived, there was a check upon his apprentice. If The Master were dead and gone, things would become unpredictable. Braddock knew not what to expect from Ogg. This was not a good omen with which to begin his campaign.

  “I believe…” Ogg said in what sounded like an amused tone, as he offered a respectful bow to
his thane. This was followed almost immediately by a soft maniacal giggle, which bubbled up and faded away just as rapidly. “…I believe I have a rightful place on this—ah—venerated council.”

  “The Master has a place here,” Hrove stated scornfully. The chief turned his head and spat upon the stone floor in disgust. “Remove yourself! Your very presence dishonors us!”

  “Thank you so much for such a warm welcome,” Ogg replied, becoming serious. The amused look slipped from his face as he turned his gaze upon Hrove. Braddock could not help feeling that there was a dangerous menace in the wizard’s eyes. Knowing Ogg as he did, Braddock wondered if the Hammer Fisted clan would soon be in need of a new chief.

  “I thank you for the clarification,” Ogg continued. “As it is clear I do indeed have a place here, with this noble body.”

  “You what?” Agax demanded angrily, shooting Braddock a concerned look before turning back to the wizard. “What game are you playing at?”

  “I play no games! Hrove here just explained The Master has a place here,” Ogg said patiently, as if speaking to a child. He had yet to take his eyes off of Hrove, even as he spoke to Agax. Hrove returned Ogg’s gaze without a hint of fear. “Therefore, I have a place here.”

  “You?” Hrove breathed.

  “What happened to Thoggle?” Braddock demanded, impropriety be damned. Though he loathed Thoggle and Ogg’s kind, as did nearly every other respectable dvergr, he had personally valued the ancient wizard’s counsel. Turning from the dvergr gods to worship another was an unforgivable offense amongst his people. The only reason both Thoggle and Ogg had their heads was that the priests long ago had permitted the practice of magic, under certain conditions. Those conditions came with responsibilities to the people.

  Instead of answering, Ogg walked slowly around to the seat reserved for The Master. His staff’s metal tip made a clicking sound as he walked, passing by several of the chiefs, who turned nervously to keep an eye upon him. Ogg made a show of considering the chair for a moment, before finally pulling it back and sitting down. He carefully leaned his staff against the table. Cragg, sitting beside Ogg, squirmed to the far side of his chair and looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Ogg winked at the gnome, who then began to tremble with fear, something Braddock had never seen before.