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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Corporal Beni had been placed in charge of the guard detail. Sergeant Blake sauntered up to him and the corporal nodded a friendly greeting. Having seen something in him, Blake had taken the large man under his wing and arranged for his promotion to corporal. Since that time, Beni had worked hard in his new role, proving the sergeant’s decision a correct one.

  The sergeant scratched his stubble as he looked over the wretches, considering them. Any and all prisoners taken represented a future pension investment for him and the men. What he was about to do would perhaps see that investment lessened somewhat.

  “This bunch giving you any trouble?” Blake asked with a glance at the prisoners.

  “Naw,” Beni responded in a bored tone. “After all they’ve been through, they seem to be a pretty meek lot.”

  “Do any of ‘em speak common?” Blake asked, glancing over at Beni, with a curious look.

  “Not that we can tell,” Beni said, looking sourly over at the ragged group of prisoners. “Pretty ignorant bunch if you ask me.”

  Just days before, these ragged and dirty prisoners had been doing their level best to kill Blake and his fellow legionaries. If it weren’t for the prospect of selling them off and increasing his pension, Blake would have been more than willing to execute the bunch and move on.

  He smiled thinly and walked around the prisoners, casually studying them. The prisoners either averted their gaze or eyed the sergeant warily. Having made a full circuit of the group, Blake turned back to Beni.

  “Not a very sanitary group, are they?” Blake commented, wrinkling his nose at their stench.

  “No, sergeant, they are not,” Beni replied sourly. “They don’t seem to have heard of a bathhouse, let alone a latrine. Seven Levels, we had to show them where to shit.”

  “I see,” Blake said, considering the prisoners for another moment before looking over at Beni curiously. “So they know what a latrine is?”

  “They do now,” Beni barked out a laugh. “Had to beat it into two of them before the rest understood.”

  “Perfect,” the sergeant said to Beni. “Mind if I borrow a few to dig some fresh latrines?”

  “You are welcome to them, sergeant,” Beni responded in a bored tone. Blake had not really been asking for permission. “I doubt they will prove any good, though.”

  “I have a work detail that needs to be done,” Blake announced loudly to the prisoners. He suspected a few could speak the common tongue. “Anyone who speaks common will live through the day and avoid being nailed to a cross.”

  Five of the prisoners looked up, naked and abject fear in their eyes. Blake smiled broadly. Here were the very boys he wanted. Looking them over, he decided they would do nicely. All five were big, strapping young men. He was confident that prior to their capture they had been full of piss and vinegar.

  “If you boys speak common, then stand up,” Blake ordered in an impatient tone. The five stood, with the other prisoners looking on with apathy. “Right then, you five come with me.”

  “Teg,” Blake motioned to one of the guards. “You’re with me. Keep a watch on these bastards.”

  The sergeant led the five prisoners, with Teg trailing along, in the direction of the road. All around them legionaries toiled away at various tasks, preparing for the arrival of the enemy, who Blake knew were somewhere around ten miles off.

  The defensive line had been started weeks ago, but it had not been finished, as they had run out of time. The legionaries were now working feverishly to complete the work. The line boasted a ten-foot-deep trench and ten-foot-high earthen rampart. Logs had been set vertically along the outward side of the rampart, creating a crude barricade, which would provide the legionnaires manning the wall with some protection.

  To the front of the defensive line, along the road, the forest had been intentionally cut back around sixty yards. Three hundred yards in the direction of Vrell, the road was neatly blocked with fallen trees and marked the start of the captain’s defensive corridor. The captain planned to make a stand here and it showed through the activity of the men.

  A company of legionaries, looking extremely smart, with a standard-bearer to the front, marched by, up the road, and away from Vrell. The formation passed through the central gate of the rampart, which stood open.

  Blake and the prisoners were forced to wait until the company passed, hobnailed sandals making an impressive crunching sound as they marched by in perfect unison. Freshly polished armor gleamed and glinted under the sunlight. The company made a remarkable sight.

  Once clear, Blake led them across the road and along the back of the fortified line that was nearly complete. Several legionaries gave the prisoners and the escort an odd look before returning to their work. They were clearly wondering where Blake and Teg were off to with the prisoners.

  They passed one group that was busily stacking javelins every few yards. Another was carrying field stones up to the top of the rampart to be piled up neatly, leaving small piles every few feet. Others were busily finishing up work, smoothing out the top of the rampart or placing stakes in the trench, along with many other jobs that needed doing.

  Blake led the prisoners to an area where the work, for the most part, had been completed, along the end of the defensive line’s right flank, which reached out into the forest. The trees at this point behind the line had been neatly cut back, but not those before it. There were very few legionaries about. Several shovels lay on the ground.

  “I know you are ignorant and shit where you like,” Blake stated in a disgusted tone. “We, on the other hand, do not. We are civilized you see. You lot will dig me some latrines right here in this spot. That is a trench for men to shit in. Understand me?”

  “Yes, sar,” one of the prisoners said in heavily-accented common and then spoke rapidly to the others in their own language.

  “We dig hole here?” Another prisoner asked, pointing at the ground where the shovels lay. “Here?”

  “Right,” Sergeant Blake replied and then marked out what he wanted. “You dig here, four trenches about this size, three feet deep. You do a good job and you get to live out the day.”

  The five prisoners stepped forward and took the shovels. They began digging furiously. Teg gave the sergeant an uncertain look, clearly unsure what was going on.

  Why put the prisoners to work on latrines that are not needed? Blake could read the question in Teg’s eyes. When Blake was sure the prisoners were not watching, the sergeant turned his head, looking meaningfully at Teg, and winked.

  “Is that the seventh?” Blake asked, gesturing behind the legionary, who turned to look. Another company was marching through the work parties, following the path of the other company that had passed some time ago. Teg looked back at the sergeant, who slowly winked once again and then rolled his eyes at the legionary, as if to say stop being the village idiot. Blake knew full well Teg knew that there was no seventh company.

  “I think you might be right,” Teg answered slowly as understanding dawned.

  “Bought time the general brought up the reserves,” Blake continued in a bored and semi-disinterested tone. “Let someone else do some heavy lifting for a change.”

  Teg cast the sergeant a long look before replying. He turned back to watch the company march up the road and into the woods, disappearing from view. “That’s what, two more fresh companies today?”

  “I would hazard all of second regiment is being brought up,” Blake continued just loud enough for the latrine diggers to overhear. “With them rebels only a few miles up the road, the general must be planning a right party.”

  They heard hooves behind them and turned to look into the forest. Emerging from a trail that had been cut into the woods for logging came a full escort troop of cavalry. At its head was a rider holding a standard topped with an imperial eagle and another holding the standard of the 85th, complete with tiger’s pelt.

  Teg took a step back in surprise. A general rode behind the standards, complete with general’s
armor and the signature blue cloak, which signified his rank. The legionary blinked. Blake shot Teg another covert wink. The general was none other than Captain Stiger, clearly dressed up in General Delvaris’s kit. The prisoners continued to dig but cast nervous glances in the direction of the mounted group, which rode carefully around the work party and the holes they were digging.

  Blake and Teg both snapped to attention, saluting as Stiger rode up.

  “Sergeant.” Captain Stiger pulled his horse to a stop. He addressed them in the aloof haughty style that was commonly used by the aristocracy when they spoke to those of a lesser social standing. “I see you are putting the scum to work.”

  “Yes, General,” Blake responded with a shrug. “Something useful, even if it is only digging latrines. Saves our boys some labor.”

  “General Stiger.” Lieutenant Ikely, who had been trailing behind, pulled up next to Stiger. The lieutenant’s horse shifted uncomfortably. Ikely leaned over slightly to speak and lowered his voice, though they were close enough that the prisoners could still hear what was said. “Colonel Lan is waiting for you at headquarters, sir. Might I remind you he has a long day ahead of him and an even longer march if he is to flank the enemy?”

  “Very correct, lieutenant,” Stiger responded, kicking his horse forward. “It is time we moved on. Carry on, sergeant.”

  Teg and the sergeant watched Captain Stiger and his party ride toward the center of the line and the road. They were silent for several moments. There was only the sound of the prisoners’ rhythmic shoveling.

  “A great man,” Teg ventured, “that General Stiger.”

  “I bet the general has got a surprise or two in store for your rebel friends,” Blake said to the prisoners. “You boys did not figure on running into an entire legion, freshly arrived from the North, did ya?”

  The prisoners said nothing but continued to dig, not even daring to look back at the sergeant. Blake laughed harshly at them before turning back to Teg. “They thought this here campaign would be an easy one!”

  “I think their friends are in for a nasty surprise,” Teg said, getting into the act. “General Stiger is one of the best.”

  “That he is, lad,” Blake confirmed with a nod. “That he is.”

  They turned back to watching the prisoners work and were silent for a time. Another company marched through. It was the same men marching by each time. They were far enough away that he was sure the prisoners could not tell the difference. Only someone who had served with the legions would notice the telltale signs. Each time the company came through, the standard-bearer and standard were changed out and the men’s marching order was shifted around.

  “Blake,” sergeant Boral called over in a friendly manner. The other sergeant was supervising a nearby work detail that consisted of four men. They were smoothing out the top of the earthen rampart and were packing down the dirt so that it provided a level surface for the defenders behind the barricade. They were standing around a spare post that had originally been intended to be used as part of the barricade. “Can you two help us lift this post? We need to move it out of the way. Damn thing is devilishly heavy.”

  “Sure,” Blake called back good-naturedly. He started over and looked back over at Teg. “Let’s go help.”

  “What about them?” Teg asked with a jerk of his thumb at the prisoners toiling away. The latrine diggers were working up a good sweat, despite the cold air.

  “What about them?” Blake asked stopping and turning to look back at the prisoners without a hint of concern.

  “Sergeant, they could run,” Teg protested. “I don’t think the general would be too happy if we lost some prisoners.”

  “Out here?” Blake scoffed, gesturing at the forest around them, then turned serious. “You boys run and we will hunt you down. Being nailed to a cross will be the least of your concerns. Understand?”

  There were several wide-eyed nods at that as they stopped work briefly. Blake gestured for them to get back to digging. The prisoners hopped to it, feverishly digging away at the budding latrine trenches, not daring to look back up.

  “See,” Blake laughed harshly. “They are sheep. They won’t run. Besides, they were stupid enough to get lost the first time. I doubt that they will make the same mistake twice. Hell, that there forest is thick as they come. It was pure dumb luck we found them anyway.”

  “If you say so, sergeant,” Teg answered uncertainly.

  “I do,” Blake replied in a growl before starting over to help Boral. “Come on, lad. Let’s get this over with.”

  Teg followed Blake over to Boral and his detail. As soon as they got there, one of Boral’s men pointed back toward the prisoners.

  “Sergeant,” the legionary said laconically. “I believe some of your prisoners are escaping.”

  “Are they now?” Blake turned slowly and saw that three of the five were making a mad dash for it. The other two just stood there, watching the others leg it, afraid to make a run for it too.

  “Let’s give them a moment, kind of a sporting head start,” Blake said quietly to the group and shot Teg another wink.

  “After them!” Blake roared, having waited for around ten seconds. “Don’t let them get away!”

  Blake, Boral, Teg and the legionaries ran after the escaping rebels, who plunged deeper into the woods, running for their very lives. The legionaries made a show of pursuing the fugitives, following them into the forest, calling loudly and intentionally driving them in the direction of the main rebel army. After a few minutes, Blake made the others give up the chase. He was satisfied that the prisoners thought they had made a clean getaway. The direction the prisoners were heading led back to the rebel army. Two of Eli’s scouts would now shadow the escaped prisoners. If needed, the scouts would dog their heels, getting close but never close enough to catch them, ensuring they continued in the correct direction.

  As they made their way back, Blake hoped that nothing went wrong and the three escapees managed to reach the rebel lines. With luck, they would report on what they had seen and heard. Perhaps the enemy general would believe he was facing an entire legion and play it more cautious. If not, well then, with the loss of those three, his pension had just taken an unwelcome hit.

  Eleven

  “I SEE YOU finally managed to get yourself promoted,” Eli stated with a smirk as he walked up to Stiger’s campfire. The night air was cold and a short while ago a few flurries had fallen, only to melt where they landed. The fire was well-fed and crackled loudly, providing sufficient heat to keep those seated near it relatively warm.

  Stiger looked up from the campfire to Eli. Several cut logs had been placed about the fire. Stiger was seated on one of these. Ikely, on another, offered Eli a friendly wave in greeting. Stiger smiled at his friend, whom he had not seen for the last two days and then only briefly after the ambush.

  “My father would be so proud,” Stiger said sarcastically, tapping General Delvaris’s breastplate with his pipe. “Don’t you agree?”

  “All I can add is that the emperor seems to have finally come to his senses.” Eli grinned a full, open-mouthed smile. He stepped up to the fire and took a few moments to warm his hands before selecting a seat to Stiger’s right.

  “Just promise me that if it comes to a decision on succession, you back the son most likely to succeed to the throne?”

  Ikely’s eyes widened with that comment and he darted a careful look to his captain. Such talk concerning the Stigers was dangerous business. Stiger, for his part, shot a sour glare in Eli’s direction, but said nothing in reply. As usual, he declined to become engaged in such talk. He was confident it only amused Eli more so.

  “I think he looks particularly good in blue,” Ikely commented, cracking a smile and clearly steering the conversation away from dangerous ground. It was Ikely’s turn to receive a sour look.

  “You know, it was all his idea,” Stiger explained to Eli, throwing a small stick he had been playing with into the fire. “Surprisingly, he
actually made sense for a change and suggested that I must continue to wear General Delvaris’ kit in the event an enemy scout inadvertently makes it through your screen and spots me. It would be confirmation for the enemy that a general was present. Can you believe that?”

  “Very sound reasoning, Ikely,” Eli commented with a closed-mouth smile. “By the way, also very becoming. It looks like it was made for you.”

  Stiger did not like the implication of that. General Delvaris’s armor did fit well, a little too well, almost as if it had been made for Stiger and not his long-deceased relative. The thought made the captain more than a little uncomfortable. When he had donned the general’s armor, he had half expected the sword to speak, but it had remained silent. Normally, if one heard voices, it was not considered a good sign. Glancing down at the sword resting against his log, Stiger wondered for a moment if he was going insane.

  “We even allowed a few prisoners to escape, having, of course, seen the great and powerful general himself,” Ikely explained with a flourish.

  “Indeed,” Eli chuckled, amused that the captain and lieutenant were pulling one over on the enemy. “Surprisingly, I believe your ruse may actually be working.”

  Stiger looked up at that, eyes narrowing. “How so?”

  “The rebels have become a great deal more cautious in the last day or so,” Eli explained. “Their advance has slowed and they are pushing out double the number of skirmishers. Their scouts are also thick as the fleas on one of those mangy creatures your family calls hunting hounds.”

  “Those are good dogs!” Stiger protested with mock indignation. “How dare you accuse my family of breeding mangy dogs!”

  “If you say so,” Eli replied skeptically before returning to the matter at hand. “Since the ambush, it has become increasingly hazardous for my scouts. I am afraid there is not much more we can do other than act as your eyes.”

  “How far back are they?” Stiger asked. He had known that there would come a point when his scouts would no longer be able to effectively raid the enemy. It seemed they had reached it sooner than he would have liked.