“Good to see you again, Cragg,” Ogg said as he repositioned himself. Cragg shrank back farther away from the wizard, if that was possible. Ogg looked up and around at the assembled chiefs with a broad, beardless smile. He leaned his forearms on the tabletop, his hands clasped together.
“Well?” Braddock demanded, not the least bit surprised at the wizard’s behavior. Ogg always enjoyed making a grand entrance, though this time it was reckless and should it continue, he might have to take steps to put the wizard in his place.
“My Thane?” Ogg asked, an exaggerated look of profound confusion passing across his face. “What were we discussing?”
“What happened to Thoggle?” Braddock demanded, going along with Ogg’s charade.
“Oh, that!” Ogg exclaimed, eyes lighting up, with a snap of his fingers. “Right, Thoggle. He moved on.”
“Moved on?” Garrack demanded. “What do you mean moved on? Explain yourself!”
“Yes.” Ogg shrugged, his eyes teary. It was a shameful display of weakness that no dvergr with honor would have permitted. Braddock realized that Ogg was playing with the council. He was enjoying his moment of triumph.
Play your games, Braddock thought. Enjoy your moment, but by the gods, I will watch you.
“It was time,” Ogg continued with a sad snuffle. “Thoggle moved on and now the apprentice is The Master.”
A chill went through the room at this statement of confirmation of what they all had feared. Several of the chiefs exchanged worried looks.
Braddock took a deep breath to calm himself. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked alarmingly, and considered the disturbed wizard, who gazed right back at him. Had Thoggle lived, the thane had no doubt that Ogg would not be here in attendance. Still, as The Master, Braddock needed his services and Ogg was bound by his gods to provide them. The thane shot a look at Garrack. Though his face looked stern, Braddock thought he could detect deep sadness through the facade. Garrack nodded ever so slightly.
“Very well, Ogg,” Braddock said slowly, as his bodyguards once again closed the door with a heavy thud and locked it. “I recognize you as The Master.”
“So very kind of you, my Thane,” Ogg responded with an odd lopsided smile, made more so by his beardless face. Braddock felt a shiver run down his back, as if a draft as cold as death had entered the room. “I stand to serve the clans.”
Braddock nodded, thinking on ways he could capitalize on this turn of events. He was now stuck with Ogg. There were some things that only The Master was capable of dealing with, like the filth squatting in Grata’Kor. A thought occurred to Braddock.
“Ogg, have you taken an apprentice?” he asked, keenly looking back at the wizard, who looked genuinely surprised by the question.
“Currently…at this time, no,” Ogg responded, brow furrowed and blinking. “Though, I must say, what a terribly intriguing and fascinating thought…”
Braddock considered Ogg for another moment, before turning back to his vassals. The wizard was a dangerous and unpredictable person, but the more immediate threat to the thane’s position were some of those seated around the table. He would not allow Ogg to make him look weak.
Braddock had prepared a welcome speech, but Ogg’s arrival had disrupted that and it now seemed trivial. It was time to take back control of the meeting.
“You must be ready to march in four weeks,” Braddock stated bluntly, knowing this news would shock and surprise.
“Four weeks?” Hrove hammered a powerful fist down upon the table, which shuddered under the impact. “The call you put out said twelve weeks. By rights we should have six remaining. More than half of my lads are still on their way!”
“Aye,” the extremely elderly Krieg, showing a modicum of life, spoke up in support. “My men have almost the farthest to travel. Only a handful have arrived thus far.”
Protests and conversations broke out around the table. Braddock held up a hand calling for silence and when that failed to work, he stood, commanding their attention.
“I understand your concerns,” Braddock said after a moment of silence. “However, events have transpired that make an earlier move necessary and more practical.”
“What events do you speak of?” Krieg asked in a wheezy and labored voice as the energy he exhibited a moment ago drained from him. He seemed to sag back into his chair, growing frailer by the second. Krieg had lived a long life and had reached the unheard-of age of seven hundred and two years. Braddock could see the time rapidly coming when Krieg would be succeeded by his eldest son. Age might just be the old warrior’s final battle.
“The tainted humans have abandoned their forts in the valley,” Braddock answered directly. “The majority have marched out of the valley. The only substantial force remaining is that holding the citadel at Grata’Kor.”
“What?” Hrove exclaimed in astonishment. “When did this happen?”
“Two weeks ago,” Braddock answered.
“Why were we not told?” Hrove demanded.
“We just learned of it ourselves from the emissary,” Garrack countered.
“Do we know why?” Krieg pressed, making an effort to be heard as several side conversations broke out among the chiefs.
“No,” Garrack said loudly over the hum of side conversations, cutting into them so all eyes turned back as Braddock once again took his seat. “We do not and the emissary did not know why either. I have dispatched scouts to uncover the reason behind their leaving. Perhaps the empire has recalled them to fight against this rebellion we have heard about.
“Regardless, we need to strike sooner rather than later,” Garrack rumbled on, stepping up to the table. Garrack was tall for a dvergr. He was also a renowned warrior of exceptional skill. His frank manner might not have earned him many friends on the council, but he was respected. “They know nothing of us. We must act before the bulk of their force returns…if they return, that is.”
“It will make our job easier,” Hrove nodded thoughtfully, stroking his long brown beard, which had been braided into several neat strands. “Are the tunnels into Grata’Kor still intact? I can’t begin to imagine the condition they are in after all these years.”
“Most remain passable,” Garrack responded with a heavy nod. “There should be no problem getting a sufficient force into the citadel and achieving surprise.”
“In short,” Braddock said, slamming the table with a powerful fist, “we take Grata’Kor back and restore the Compact.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as the chiefs digested this. Braddock might not personally enjoy the company of many of them; however, all were intelligent. They would not have risen to their current positions and remained long in them had they not commanded the respect of their people.
“The emissary reported there was great evil in Grata’Kor,” Krieg wheezed as he spoke. “I don’t like going in with only a handful of my men. It is like stepping into the mine with only one boot on.”
“I don’t like it either,” Haggid agreed forcefully. “We should delay and hit them with our full and combined force.”
“If we wait,” Braddock said firmly, “it could cost us additional lives.”
“Going in with our partial strength could see the same,” Krieg stated just as firmly, once again exhibiting life. “How do you intend to deal with Castor’s filth?”
“We will have surprise on our side,” Braddock insisted and then gestured over at the wizard, “and we have The Master.”
All eyes turned to Ogg, who looked back at Braddock with a cold, thin-lipped smile. Before Ogg could manage to say anything that might inflame the chiefs or cast doubt upon his decision, Braddock decided to change tracks.
“How many here have their full complement on hand?” the thane asked.
Three hands went up.
“Including mine,” Braddock said. He had hoped for more. “Four full war bands then, with six other partials.”
“With four war bands, we outnumber the entire imperial forc
e, even before they abandoned the valley, at least two times over,” Garrack said with conviction. “We can crush these vermin.”
Braddock nodded in agreement and then decided to end debate on the subject. “We will launch the attack in four weeks. That is my final word on the matter.”
There was silence at this, which lasted only a moment before Krieg stirred.
“Once we take Grata’Kor,” the old dvergr wheezed, “what then, my Thane?”
“We restore and fulfill the requirements of the Compact,” Braddock said simply, knowing what Krieg really sought.
“Then what?” Krieg continued probing, eying his thane critically with eyes made watery from age. Braddock knew Krieg wanted to hear more, and craved to hear more. It was something all dvergr had waited many years to hear their thane say.
“Too long have we remained hidden, apart and isolated from the world,” Krieg pushed onward. “We have shrouded our existence like cowards. It was once necessary but no longer. We are a proud people, my Thane. Don’t you feel what I feel? Is it not time? Before I pass to the shadows and shades, I want to hear the words. I wish to pass on from this world proud and happy.”
Silence settled upon the chamber, as Krieg collapsed back into his chair, gasping from the effort of his speech, which had touched the thane’s heart as it had every other dvergr in the room. Braddock looked around the table at the faces of his vassals, some of whom he trusted and others he most certainly did not, would not and could not.
Is it time to return? Braddock asked himself as he leaned an elbow on the table. Absently he ran a hand through his neatly braided beard, feeling the tight prayer braids with his rough and calloused fingers. Have my people recovered? Are they strong enough to face the world once again?
All looked expectantly for his response….all except Ogg, who was engrossed in reading from a tome he had pulled forth from the depths of his black robes.
“We return,” Braddock spoke quietly. “We take back what is rightfully ours!”
This was followed by silence, all eyes upon the thane, almost as if they could not believe what they had just heard. Several chairs creaked, shattering the moment. Then the chiefs leapt to their feet and roared their approval at this declaration, with many pounding on the table. Krieg sat where he had collapsed. He looked triumphant, but was too tired to do more than grin. Braddock noticed only Ogg seemed unmoved. The beardless dwarf looked up at his thane with a curious expression. The wizard flashed him another odd smile, before offering a wink from those mad and disturbed eyes.
Four
MARCUS FELT A FRIENDLY hand come to rest gently on his shoulder. He had been sitting with his back resting against an ancient oak. He glanced over at Eli, who, in the dim gloomy predawn light, offered the scout corporal a closed-mouth smile. The air was chilly and in the trees above, the birds were just beginning to stir in their roosts.
Marcus had been waiting patiently for Eli to complete his scout of the enemy camp. Had the elf not been with him, Marcus would have done the job himself. As good as he was, the lieutenant was better at this kind of work. There was no one more skilled at stealing about than an elven ranger.
Enemy sentry in sight…over there, Eli signed, using the sign language he had taught the scouts. I will handle. You stay here.
Marcus nodded his understanding. Eli pulled out a slightly-curved, wicked-looking knife around eight inches long, and silently moved forward through the brush. In moments he disappeared without a sound into the gloom.
Marcus closed his eyes, controlled his breathing and focused, listening to the living forest around him. The experience was almost trancelike. Whenever at rest, he found himself slipping into this state more and more often. It felt natural and relaxing. The deeper he went, the more it seemed he could actually feel the forest, as if it were a single living being. Marcus struggled to explain it to himself, let alone others, yet it felt more real to him than… He abruptly sensed a disturbance off to his left. The pattern had been interrupted and it almost felt as if something was warning him that someone was approaching, moving stealthily towards him. He opened his eyes and turned his head left to look just as the lieutenant silently emerged through the brush.
The elven ranger stopped, eyeing Marcus with what the scout corporal thought was a particularly odd expression. Eli hesitated a moment before coming closer. It seemed as if the elf was studying him as a child studies a strange bug.
All clear, Eli signed with his fingers, that odd look still in his eyes. Let’s go.
Marcus stood, grabbing his bow and followed Eli. Though the forest was still dark and heavily shadowed, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. The sky had become considerably brighter. Many of the trees had shed the majority of their leaves over the previous days, which permitted the light to penetrate the forest more easily. They approached slowly, carefully, gliding through the leaf-strewn forest floor, barely making a sound as they went. He could hear the enemy camp beginning to stir the closer they got.
The objective had been to slow the enemy advance, sowing fear and causing confusion. So far the raids had been an outstanding success. Each time the scouts struck randomly along the rebel column, the enemy was forced to halt their march and deploy skirmishers in an attempt to force them back. More often than not, the enemy skirmishers found nothing, as the scouts were long gone.
The targeting of officers and sergeants had also had a dramatic effect. Without leadership, some of the rebel companies simply refused to march, which brought the entire enemy column to a halt or saw other rebel companies attempting to struggle by the halted unit along the narrow road. Whenever an officer was struck down, replacements had to be sent forward and this took time. The rebel advance had become painfully slow.
Marcus had lost track of the number of men he had killed, maimed or wounded. Initially, he had kept score, but with the pace of their operations and bone tiredness that was on him, he had simply given up. All he knew was there had been many. He did not care why or even question whether the rebel cause was just. They had rebelled against the rule of the empire and his job was to kill them. Like all legionaries, he left politics to the politicians. All that mattered was that he well understood that if given the chance the rebels would as willingly take his life as he was intent upon taking theirs.
In the last few days, rebel scouts and skirmishers had doubled and then tripled in number, as the enemy attempted to push the imperial scouts back from the main column. In the forest, this was extremely difficult to do. Conversely, for Marcus and the other scouts, once they struck, escaping into the depths of the forest was quickly becoming much more hazardous and difficult.
To make matters worse, many of the enemy scouts and skirmishers appeared quite skilled. There had been several unexpected encounters that had been extremely violent. Two of the scouts from the garrison had lost their lives to such unanticipated encounters. The garrison scouts were not quite as skilled as those from the 85th, but they were learning rapidly as Eli and Marcus worked with them at every available opportunity.
Marcus was tired. The pace was beginning to take its toll and he was looking forward to returning to the scout camp for some well-earned rest.
The lieutenant suddenly stopped, crouched down and pointed ahead. Marcus moved forward and crouched down next to the elven ranger. With the prospect of action, he found he was wide-awake and alert. They were at the edge of the enemy camp, which was slowly beginning to stir as the sergeants, corporals and cooks began to prepare for the day. The bulk of the men from this infantry regiment were still asleep. The smell of wood smoke from many smoldering fires hung heavily in the air, as did the stench of human and animal excrement.
So far they had avoided striking at any of the enemy marching camps. This had been intentional, as they had only raided the rebels while they were on the move. Eli had explained he wanted to create a sense of safety and security, in that it would appear to the rebels that the imperials were afraid of hitting well-guarded camps. Ma
rcus knew that this morning, across the rebel line of advance, the enemy would have their only sense of safety shattered. Six of the enemy camps would be hit by lightning raids.
Like the others Marcus had seen, the rebel camp was shabby and had a look of extreme disorder. These men were not professional soldiers and it showed. Before bedding down for the night, the rebels had not even bothered to clear the brush from their camp. As near as he could tell, there were around five hundred men sleeping on their arms amidst the brush or, if they were lucky, sleeping in a handful of tents. There had been no attempt to fortify the encampment as the legions would have done when the enemy was about. The rebels had simply created their own clearing by chopping down the trees, which they then used to fuel fires. They had posted sentries, but not enough to hinder Eli and Marcus.
There was a large ornate tent just feet away, in the direction Eli was indicating. This was their target, what Eli and Marcus suspected to be the equivalent of a regimental commander. Marcus had spotted him two days ago, but had been unable to get close enough for a kill shot. On the road, he had been heavily protected with a strong bodyguard and large screen of skirmishers moving skillfully through the forest, parallel to the road.
Surprisingly, the regimental commander’s tent was on the outer edge of the camp and not at the camp’s center, where he would have been better protected. Marcus marveled at this arrogance. Or is it simple stupidity? he asked himself.
He assumed that perhaps the regimental commander had wanted to separate himself from the rank and file, or perhaps it was just the smell. Sanitation did not appear to be too high on the rebel list of camp priorities. Marcus wrinkled his nose at the rank smell in the air.
The Tiger (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 2) Page 4