“The lead enemy column is camped about five miles from this spot,” Eli answered casually. “They have made very little progress today.”
“I think they received our message,” Ikely chuckled. “We gave them a good one, right to the nose.”
“The ambush was nothing more than a large skirmish,” Stiger replied, and Ikely sobered with this statement. “The rebels have deeper reserves than us and it is dangerous to underestimate them.”
“How many men did you lose in the ambush?” Eli asked of Stiger.
“Thirty-two dead and another forty injured,” Stiger responded grimly. “It would have been worse had we faced a better-prepared enemy.”
“Be careful what you wish for. Farther back in their line of march, the rebels have formations of some quality,” Eli reported. “They wear scale armor and appear much disciplined. I believe part of their slow progress has been to shift forward some of these formations.”
“You are just full of good cheer,” Stiger breathed, taking out his tobacco from a bag. He filled the pipe with the last of his good tobacco and used the end of a small twig to light the pipe. He puffed up a good burn and took a moment to savor the rich flavor. An additional store of tobacco had been recovered after the ambush. It seemed one of the rebel officers had a taste for the weed. Despite being inferior in quality to the good eastern stuff that Stiger preferred, he had claimed it for himself. After tonight, he would have to resort to the captured tobacco.
“Troops from the southern kingdoms, perhaps even the Cyphan Confederacy?” Ikely postulated, eyebrows raised. “Our initial interrogation of a few of the less ignorant rebels seems to confirm that the confederacy is behind the rebellion. A few even claimed the confederacy marches with the rebels.”
Have they finally committed to war with the Empire? Stiger wondered, taking a pull on his pipe. Beyond the empire’s southernmost province, across the Narrow Sea, lay the Cyphan Confederacy. It had long been suspected that the confederacy had stirred up the rebellion in the hopes of slowing imperial growth and ambition. In some quarters, war was even considered inevitable.
“It is possible,” Eli admitted with a shrug.
“I guess we will find out eventually,” Stiger exhaled heavily before taking another pull off of his pipe. “The enemy should reach our defensive line tomorrow then?”
“At their current pace, yes…by the early afternoon. Their scouts should be in sight of the line by morning though,” Eli added after thinking on it. “Expect the rebel commander to have a report on your position by noon. They have just too many scouts for us to stop them all.”
“How many have you lost so far?” Stiger asked.
Ikely, as was his nightly ritual, had pulled out a piece of wood he had carefully selected and began chipping away at it with his service dagger. Every evening he meticulously formed small wooden figurines of the gods. He left these the next morning, where he had bedded down for the night. Highly superstitious, the figurines were prized by the men and every morning, without fail, someone was lurking to scoop them up. Ikely never complained and it had become Stiger’s belief that the lieutenant wanted the men to have the little figurines. It seemed to be his way to spread the good word.
“Seven so far,” Eli said with great sadness. “One from the 85th and the remainder from the garrison companies.”
“One of ours?” Stiger asked. “Who?”
“Mosch,” Eli replied. “He was lost before the ambush, in an encounter with a group of rebel scouts.”
“We have been lucky so far,” Ikely said as he continued to work on the figurines.
“How so?” Stiger asked, looking over at his lieutenant.
“The men from the garrison are nowhere near as well-trained as our company,” Ikely explained, still chipping away at the wood, shaping it to his will. “Should we get into a bind, they could very well fail us at a critical moment.”
Stiger nodded in agreement as he breathed out a long stream of smoke. “My intention is to not put them in that position, but stack our chances so that we have every possible advantage when I commit them.”
“I know,” Ikely said with a quick glance at his captain before looking back down on the figurine he was shaping. “We have to keep in mind that the rebels will have a few surprises for us too.”
His lieutenant was quite correct and he knew he could not let his guard down. He would have to be careful and alert to the enemy’s intentions.
Stiger broke the silence. “Once we fall back on the castle, we will have the winter to train the garrison companies up and get them into proper shape.”
“Sir, dispatch just arrived.” Blake stepped up to their fire and saluted. He handed it over to the captain.
“Thank you, sergeant,” Stiger responded, looking at the dispatch. It was from Lan. “I will have a reply later this evening.”
“Sir?” Blake asked and Stiger looked back up questioningly at the sergeant, pipe clamped between his teeth.
“What is it?” Stiger asked.
“I have an accounting tallying what we recovered from the enemy,” Blake said. “There had been so much of it, especially since we captured four enemy wagons, that what with my other duties, it has taken four days to compile a complete list.”
“Ah…yes,” Stiger nodded. “Swing by this evening around ten bells and we shall go through it.”
“Yes, sir.” Blake drew himself up, saluted and left.
Stiger took the dispatch and opened it. He read through it quickly, tilting the dispatch toward the fire for added light. Lan reported that Councilman Bester had arrived at the castle and the negotiations had begun. The lieutenant felt that they were well on their way toward an agreement that hopefully would secure a longstanding peace between the garrison and the residents of the valley.
Several days back, Stiger had learned about the valley’s militia. None of the garrison officers had known and that was a worrying sign. It bothered the captain that the council had concealed its existence, which meant they had never fully accepted imperial rule. Typically, militias were nothing to be seriously concerned about, but with a rebel army marching on Vrell, the last thing the captain wanted to deal with was a second armed enemy, no matter how inept, in the valley behind him.
Taking another puff off of his pipe, Stiger returned to the dispatch. Lan ticked off the items he had agreed to and went on to explain his reasoning behind each one. He had also listed a few of the more contentious points and the council’s thinking. One of those Stiger could absolutely not agree to: allowing the civilians to bring legionaries to trial and the right to then punish those convicted.
The captain well understood the council’s reasoning and desire to bring legionaries to justice; however, he could not allow it. Imperial law forbade local interference in legion affairs. Should a legionary break the law, the offender would face legion justice. This usually meant the local commander decided the guilt or innocence of the accused and type of punishment, if any was warranted.
Stiger carefully folded the dispatch and placed it in a pocket. Later this evening, he would reread it once more and then write a detailed reply, which he suspected would take some time. Together with Sergeant Blake’s report, the evening promised to be a long one.
“I must go,” Eli announced, abruptly standing.
“So soon?” Stiger asked, though he was not surprised. It was difficult to keep Eli in one place at the best of times, especially when he had work to do.
“Unfortunately.” Eli grinned, a closed-mouthed smile. “I am due to meet Marcus shortly. I want to get a better look at those formations the enemy is bringing up. Besides, I have had a strange feeling these last few days and I want to have a more thorough look at the enemy. Something doesn’t feel quite right.”
“Strange feeling?” Stiger asked, not liking the sound of that. “Care to explain?”
“I…I wish I could.” Eli hesitated seeming to be unsure what to say, which in and of itself was highly unusual. “This forest is old
and I have a feeling it is trying to tell me something.”
Stiger said nothing but watched his friend. Ikely had stopped his carving and was also looking at the elf. Stiger felt Eli looked conflicted. The elf tapped his foot in irritation and then plunged ahead.
“My people can both speak and listen to the forest,” Eli explained. “You know this. What you probably do not know is that occasionally we can catch glimpses, or perhaps you might call it feelings, of others in the forest.”
“Others?” Stiger asked surprised. “What others? Elves?”
Eli turned to the fire, gazing into the blazing depths. “That…has always been debatable.”
“Debatable?” Stiger questioned. “What in the Seven Levels does that mean?”
“Some of my people,” Eli continued, in a way that made it seem he was very uncomfortable speaking on the subject, “believe that we can catch glimpses…though to be fair, it is not quite an image…you could almost call them the emotions of others through the forest. There is another faction that believes very strongly that this is simply a collective memory of the forest, a look into the past, if you will. It is extremely rare.”
Stiger had thought he understood Eli fairly well. His friend always seemed certain and confident. When Eli did not know the answer to something, he began searching until he found it. This, however, was something altogether different. Stiger was being allowed to see a mystical side of Eli’s people that few outsiders were ever permitted to glimpse.
“How long have you been feeling this way?” Stiger asked quietly.
“Ever since we left Vrell,” Eli answered, turning back to look upon Stiger. His friend bit his lower lip, his perfectly-formed face clouded with worry.
“Are you sensing other elves?” Stiger asked.
“There are no other elves,” Eli said firmly.
“Who then?”
“Is the forest trying to warn you of something?” Ikely asked, almost at the same time the captain had asked his question. Eli turned to look on Ikely, eyes very intense.
“Yes,” Eli said quietly after a moment. “I believe you are on to the root of the matter. Yes…the forest is trying to warn me.”
“Of what?” Stiger asked.
“I do not know,” Eli said plainly, shoulders slumping. “There has been no time for a proper commune.”
“Well, that is not very helpful.” Stiger took another pull on his pipe and exhaled slowly. “You will tell me if you learn anything more?”
“Yes,” Eli said.
Stiger understood it had likely taken a lot for his friend to tell him this much.
Eli’s eyes lit up. “Think how easy things would have been had you chosen a life with Miranda.”
Stiger exhaled a stream of smoke slowly, as he considered his friend. Eli was intentionally changing the subject.
“Doesn’t the emperor have a younger sister by the name of Miranda?” Ikely asked, having returned to his whittling.
“How is he doing?” Stiger asked, declining to take the bait. “Your new scout corporal?”
“Marcus?” Eli asked, eyebrows raised, gathering up his bow and kit.
Stiger nodded, taking another pull on his pipe. He blew it out long and slow as he watched Eli.
“I suspect he can feel the life-beat of the forest,” Eli said quietly, slipping his quiver over a shoulder.
“He’s that good, huh?” Stiger looked up in surprise. Eli nodded.
“He will one day make a fine ranger,” Eli explained wistfully. “That is, should he survive this campaign…”
Ikely had stopped his carving and sat there looking between the two. After a moment, he shook his head and returned to shaping the wood.
“Once this mess is over with,” Eli said, “you may wish to make special arrangements for him.”
“You mean for Marcus to be transferred to the rangers?” Ikely asked of Eli, this time not bothering to glance up from his work.
“It would give him an opportunity to become more than he is,” Eli said. He moved to leave.
“Take care, my friend,” Stiger said to Eli, who nodded and stepped out of the firelight.
Stiger took another puff on his pipe and stared into the depths of the fire. Eli had given him a lot to think on.
Twelve
MARCUS HAD BEEN waiting for Eli in the agreed-upon spot. It was a small clearing surrounded by larger trees, bordered by low level scrub brush. The clearing was mostly free of the brush that grouped up haphazardly in this portion of the forest. It was a very isolated spot, which is why Marcus had chosen it. Anyone attempting to sneak up on him would have to pass through the scrub and to do that silently would be nearly impossible. Only someone with Eli’s skill level could have done it.
Eli was late, which was not unusual and Marcus was far from concerned. The lieutenant always had more on his plate than he could handle, but he somehow managed in the end. When the lieutenant finally arrived, they would set out to take a careful look at these new formations the rebels were bringing up. They appeared to be better organized, armed and led. Todd, who had first seen them, said they were professional.
The night was very cold. It had dropped to near freezing. Despite the cold, Marcus had not set a fire. That might have drawn the attention of the enemy. It was dark, but the nearly full moon occasionally broke free of the clouds and through the trees provided a bit of illumination to see by.
Marcus was not terribly cold, as he had donned two of his service tunics to provide some modicum of warmth. He had friends who, when the temperature dropped far enough, would wear as many as three or four tunics at the same time. The legions did not provide much in the way of cold weather clothing. When in the field, simple legionnaires had to rely upon their tunics, cloak and blanket. Truth be told, Marcus felt he was becoming inured to the cold.
He was kneeling on the forest floor, waiting patiently. Over the past few days, it had been rare to have some time to himself. Since he now had that time, he set out to enter that deep meditative state to which he had become accustomed, to feel the forest. With each and every try, it was becoming easier. Almost immediately, he was able to enter that state and he could literally feel the forest around him. It seemed to embrace and welcome him, as if it were aware of his presence, which was a somewhat unsettling thought. For a while, he just felt the forest about him and around him, enjoying the feeling. Then he became aware of something intangible that he could sense far off in the distance, something hovering on the very edge of the forest, far to the south. It was an awareness, an alien presence. He began to reach for it with his mind and then abruptly stopped. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong.
He became aware of a disturbance. It was as if the forest itself was sending him a warning. Danger!
He dropped out of the meditative state and his eyes snapped open. He was careful not to move a muscle. His bow, with a full quiver, lay in front of him, within reach, as did his short sword. Marcus dared not go for it. Something warned him not to.
He could almost feel someone observing him from behind. For some reason, he was quite sure it was not Eli. Whoever it was meant him harm. Marcus was sure of it. How he knew, he could not say. He listened intently and then he heard it, a faint sound like someone nocking an arrow and drawing back to loose.
He rolled to the right, more sensing the twang of the bow than hearing it, as the tension on the bow was abruptly released. This was followed near instantly by a THWISH of an arrow passing by extremely close to his face, so close he could feel its passing. As he rolled, Marcus pulled his dagger from his boot, coming up into a crouch. Instinctively, he let the dagger fly in the direction he thought the arrow had come from. Though he could see nothing in the dim moonlight behind the scrub brush, he heard a solid meaty thwack, followed by a grunt. There was no accompanying scream of pain. About to reach for his bow, he sensed…almost felt as if another arrow was about to be shot from somewhere in the darkness and he dodged left, away from his bow. THWISH…an arrow flew into the empt
y space where he had been a fraction of a second before and embedded itself into the soft forest floor with a quiet thump.
This last arrow was from a second shooter! Marcus knew he was in serious trouble. Whoever was out there was good, perhaps too good. They had approached him unheard and unseen and that, with the scrub brush around the clearing, should have been near impossible!
“Sasha’haleen,” a voice shouted abruptly. A figure exploded into the clearing between Marcus and the bowmen. Marcus, in mid-dodge, turned to confront the attacker, wishing he still had his dagger, when he suddenly realized it was Eli.
“Sasha’haleen,” Eli shouted once again. “Tarato sleeth ta’doshi.”
There was a moment of silence. Marcus froze, unsure what to do. About to move for his bow or sword, for it was better to be armed than not, Eli abruptly turned to him.
“Do not move,” Eli ordered quite firmly, switching back to common. “Do not move, for both our lives depend upon it!”
Marcus froze, looking back at Eli, who was suddenly illuminated in moonlight as the clouds parted. The scout tried to peer into the brush, but in the gloom he could see nothing.
“Sasha’haleen ta’doshi,” another voice called out in what seemed to Marcus not directed at him and Eli, but others beyond his sight. How many were out there? How had they gotten so close that he had not heard them?
“Etra’to saleesh,” the voice continued. “Etra’to saleesh hamash.”
Seeming to materialize from the darkness, a man cautiously emerged from the scrub brush that surrounded the clearing, with a nocked bow aimed squarely at Eli. Eli tilted his head slightly to an odd angle, which once again reminded Marcus that the lieutenant was not human. Human necks just did not bend like that.
Eli said something in the language he had spoken moments before. The one with the bow replied and Marcus abruptly realized the bowman was a she! He glanced at Eli, unsure what he should do. Eli’s complete attention was on the woman and the lieutenant looked to Marcus very much like a coiled spring, ready to explode into action.
The Tiger (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 2) Page 12