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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Captain Stiger!” a jovial voice boomed, interrupting his thoughts. Stiger looked up to see Father Thomas striding over, a large smile on the big man’s face. “Or should I now call you General Stiger?”

  “Father,” Stiger greeted. Eli respectfully stood and offered the paladin a slight bow. Stiger noticed with interest that the paladin was wearing his armor, with his sabre belted on. The man’s friary robes had been left behind and instead he wore a white cloak emblazoned with the crown-shaped sigil of the High Father. “Will you join us?”

  “I do believe I will,” Father Thomas said, taking a seat by the fire. The captain noted the paladin’s eyes dart briefly toward the captain’s sword as he sat. Eli resumed his seat a respectful half second later, shooting Stiger a look of disapproval for not having stood.

  Stiger wondered what the paladin was doing out here. Had he come to fight?

  The last Stiger had heard from Lan was that Father Thomas had been busy searching through the castle for any remnants of evil. Stiger’s mood darkened and his thoughts turned on the paladin. He had already faced one wizard and met another. Was there evil about?

  “Getting colder by the day,” Father Thomas said.

  Stiger grabbed a wine jar that had been sitting atop the log next to him. He tossed it to Father Thomas, who caught it.

  “Why, thank you, my son.” The paladin smiled and took a deep pull from the jar. “Ah…the good stuff, valley made. I must say I am becoming quite fond of their wine.”

  “The snow can’t come soon enough,” Stiger remarked, glancing up at the sky. If the snow came early and began to pile up in the pass, he could pull back to the castle and wait out the winter. Until that occurred, he would be forced to delay the enemy as long as was possible.

  “Lieutenant Banister passed away,” Father Thomas announced sadly after a second pull from the jar.

  Stiger blew out a long stream of smoke, letting it out slowly. “Though I knew him but a short while, he seemed a good man.”

  The three were silent for some time before Father Thomas shifted uncomfortably, as if he wanted to say something.

  “You were called, were you not?” Stiger asked quietly, fearing the answer he would receive.

  “Yes,” the paladin confirmed gravely. “I was called here.”

  Could it get any worse? Stiger asked himself, hand clenching with the frustration of it all. He returned his gaze to the fire. Dear gods, a paladin on quest…could it get any worse?

  Seventeen

  “OPEN THE GATE,” Stiger ordered, pulling on his helmet and securing the chin strap. Six men stepped forward and, struggling, lifted the entrance gate, dragging it back and aside. The biting cold wind immediately cut through the opening, causing Stiger’s blue cloak to flutter. The men then laid planking over the trench to act as a makeshift bridge.

  Stiger looked over at Father Thomas. “Are you sure you do not wish to join us?”

  “Not this time,” the paladin said with a faraway look, which the captain did not much like. He rather suspected Father Thomas knew more than he was saying.

  “Right then,” Stiger growled, turning to Eli and Sergeant Blake. “Let’s go.”

  Stiger strode forth from the fortification and onto the makeshift bridge of planking that had been laid over the trench. Sergeant Blake and Eli followed. Looking down at the V-shaped trench below, Stiger could readily see the ankle breakers, small sharpened stakes and caltrops that had been placed in anticipation of an enemy assault. Anyone unlucky enough to make it into the trench was in for an unpleasant surprise. He stepped around the oversized sharpened stakes that pointed outward towards the enemy and onto the field his men had cleared of forest.

  Stiger had made sure the field, littered with stumps, was large enough for the enemy to be able to line up at least three companies for assault. He wanted to give the enemy enough room, thereby encouraging an assault, but not too much open space to permit their attack to become overwhelming. This was his ground, not theirs, and he intended to dictate the rules.

  Of course the enemy would be able to assault the portion of his fortified line on either flank, which stretched into the trees. However, that would prove difficult, as the terrain was rugged and the forest would break up any type of organized formation. Caltrops had also been seeded around the flanks of his defensive line, along with ankle breakers and small pits with sharpened sticks, covered over by leaves.

  With precious little space off the road for maneuver, Stiger was essentially inviting a frontal assault, where he had carefully created the perfect killing zone for the enemy to enter. He had learned this lesson fighting against the Rivan in the hellish forests of Abath. The only sensible move to unseat him from his current position would be to try a flanking movement and that would take time. Once detected, Stiger would simply abandon his defensive position and pull back to his next line. It was all very obvious to the captain, but was it obvious to the enemy? Stiger suspected not. He expected at least one serious attempt to force him out, which was what he wanted. The more of the enemy he killed now, the fewer he would face later.

  In the middle of the stump-studded field and between the lines, the enemy had placed a small portable camp table. There were two folding camp chairs on opposite sides. Set smack in the middle of the field, the table looked out of place and forlorn. He walked slowly to the table with Blake and Eli on his heels.

  A man, whom Stiger took to be Lord General Kryven and two other enemy officers were waiting. The general was seated and by all appearances waiting patiently, with not a concern in the world. The other chair was empty. The general stood respectfully as Stiger approached.

  “General Stiger,” General Kryven greeted in flawless common. Stiger noticed a trace of irritation on the general’s face when he realized Eli was not human. The irritation was replaced by a flash of anger and vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

  “The honor is mine.” Decorum demanded that he show respect for his enemy and he was not about to sully his honor.

  “General Stiger,” Kryven said. “May I introduce my aides, Captains Kevern and Ithax. Both are trusted aids and have been with me a long time.”

  “And may I introduce Lieutenant Eli’Far and Sergeant Blake.”

  “Now that we are acquainted, shall we sit?” Kryven suggested, gesturing toward the table. “Though we are currently enemies, I see no reason to not be civilized.”

  Stiger nodded and took his seat, as Kryven did the same. The two men were silent, assessing one another. Kryven was older, with a strong aristocratic bearing about him. He wore a rich red cloak with a matching tunic under a well-made armored cuirass, heavily and expensively engraved. A red sash ran around the middle of his chest, probably denoting the general’s rank. His helmet, topped with a horse-hair mane dyed red, rested upon the table.

  Kryven’s hair was grayed by age, with a few wrinkle lines about the eyes and mouth. He was physically fit and looked to be a professional soldier, with a weathered air about him as if he had spent a lifetime in the field, commanding men. Stiger noted that the general’s sword, larger than a legionary short sword, seemed more functional than flashy. This was a hard man, Stiger decided, whose continence bespoke of competence. He was a commander to be respected.

  Glancing at the helmet resting on the table, Stiger considered removing his own, but then dismissed the idea. If there was trouble, he wanted all of his armor in place.

  “You have greatly impressed me,” Kryven said when Stiger said nothing. “I must admit it has been a great while since I faced someone with even a modicum of your skill. Many play at our trade, but few are masters.”

  Stiger nodded, accepting the compliment, but said nothing. The captain was wondering what the general was playing at. Why even bother with a parley? Kryven eyed Stiger for a few silent moments, as if weighing his opponent.

  “You are a man of few words,” Kryven commented, with a trace of a smile and then a glance over at It
hax. “If only some of my officers were as taciturn.”

  “I speak when needed,” Stiger growled and Kryven’s smile grew. “I see no reason to waste idle words.”

  “I executed several officers over their inability to keep your raiders off my column. Now I see my mistake.” He nodded respectfully toward Eli, who nodded back in reply. Stiger felt that there was a tinge of anger in the man’s tone. Is he upset over losing his elves?

  Curious, Stiger remained silent. He saw no reason to reveal anything or fill the silence and allowed Kryven to continue. The more Kryven talked, the more Stiger learned.

  “You have cost me near three thousand men,” Kryven continued, smile fading. “Granted, they were poor quality, rebels, you call them…former flotsam of your empire…their lands now added the Confederacy. Still, your actions have forced me take direct command of my advance column and to bring up my best.”

  Stiger said nothing in reply. Perhaps this was why the enemy had delayed their advance a week. He got the feeling that the going would be more difficult with General Kryven in direct command. Stiger knew he would have to be much more cautious and on his guard.

  “You might be pleased to know the fool who commanded the advance, I had removed, along with his head.”

  “General Masmo?” Stiger asked as he cracked his knuckles.

  “Yes,” Kryven admitted with a slight trace of irritation.

  Stiger said nothing in reply.

  “You do realize you have no hope of winning?” Kryven asked abruptly.

  “General Kryven, I beg to differ,” Stiger responded gruffly. “I realize no such thing.”

  “That is Lord General to you,” the officer who had been introduced as Ithax hissed with offense, hand going to the hilt of his sword. Blake’s snapped to his and he took a half step forward, ready to protect his captain and draw. There was a hard look in Blake’s eyes. Eli remained where he stood, completely motionless. Stiger was comforted by the thought that Eli could be extremely fast. He had no doubt that, should the need arise, his friend would act without hesitation.

  “He is not my lord,” Stiger said firmly, not taking his eyes off of Kryven, who seemed somewhat amused. Ithax’s eyes went wide with outrage. Kryven held up a hand and gestured for Ithax to back down.

  “Ithax,” Kryven rebuked him. “Now is not the time.”

  Ithax took his hand from his sword and reluctantly stepped back. Blake relaxed a fraction but remained where he was, eyes firmly fixed upon the enemy officer, all but daring the man to go for his sword.

  “I tire of this game. You are no general,” Kryven said bluntly, pointing a finger at Stiger. “You are Captain Stiger, regardless of that ridiculous getup.”

  Stiger simply shrugged. He was not surprised that the deception had failed, as it was bound to at some point.

  “You had my staff quite convinced, you know,” Kryven admitted, leaning back in his camp chair, which creaked. The general crossed a leg. “Your ruse worked…for a time. With the casualties we were taking, you had my staff convinced we were facing an actual legion.

  “Do you know my men call you the Tiger?” Kryven asked in amusement when Stiger refused to reply. “The Tiger…a good name I think, fitting.”

  Stiger offered a thin smile but continued to say nothing.

  “How I wish I had someone of your quality working for me,” Kryven continued wistfully. “I very much doubt I could ever convince you to switch sides?”

  “I am honor-bound to the empire,” Stiger affirmed simply.

  “I thought not,” Kryven nodded with exaggerated sadness. “Even in the Cyphan Confederacy we have heard of Stiger honor.”

  Stiger stiffened slightly, unsure if he was being insulted. After a moment, he decided it mattered little to him. The man before him was the enemy and as such, he could expect only the very worst.

  “Which is why I will make you a different sort of offer…an honorable trade, if you will.”

  “Oh?” Stiger asked, curious to know what the general was thinking.

  “I will allow you, your company and the garrison to march out under arms, with all of your standards, including the ‘lost’ eagle you found.” Kryven uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, placing a palm on the table. “You will have free passage back through our lines to your empire.”

  Stiger narrowed his eyes at this offer. Kryven knew that he had recovered the eagle. He must also know the formidable nature of Castle Vrell, Stiger realized. Had his scouts made it that far? This was obviously an attempt to quickly take the castle without additional losses. But why send so many men to take it? Vrell was a backwater. Surely there was greater need elsewhere for the forces Kryven commanded?

  “I only want Vrell,” Kryven continued. “The empire loses Vrell, but you get to bring home that ‘lost’ eagle, which should mitigate any loss of honor. Vrell is a remote and isolated valley of little consequence to anyone.”

  The offer was more than generous and the Lords of the Cyphan Confederacy were known to treat with honor. Stiger had no doubt that, should Kryven give his word on safe passage, he and his men would have it. However, Stiger’s honor was such that it would not allow him to so easily quit the castle and valley.

  “Why Vrell?” Stiger asked. “Why do you want it so badly?”

  General Kryven cocked a surprised eyebrow at Stiger. “I was quite sure that is obvious. Our two nations are at war. My orders are to take Vrell and crush any legionary forces in my way.”

  “And yet,” Stiger smiled thinly, “you are offering me safe passage to march my men under arms and with our standards back to imperial lines in exchange for Vrell. That does not seem like you are following your orders to the letter.”

  “No, it does not,” Kryven replied smoothly. “I am simply attempting to spare both sides additional bloodshed.”

  “No,” Stiger replied simply, not buying a word of it. There was something more going on. Though he did not know what it was, Stiger was sure of it. Kryven and the Confederacy wanted Vrell for a very specific reason. The valley must have some sort of strategic value to them. “You cannot have Vrell.”

  “Come now, Captain Stiger,” Kryven said with a slight laugh that Stiger took to be outright irritation. “I know your total strength is under a thousand men. Your company is a ‘named’ unit, Stiger’s Tigers, a little pretentious perhaps. Your second officer is Lieutenant Ikely and each night he carves figurines of the gods, which are highly prized by your men. I know everything there is to know about you and the forces under your command. I even know that you were sent to Vrell to escort a supply train, it being only the gods’ fortune that sees you frustrating my advance.”

  Kryven hesitated a moment. He had become exceedingly irritated and it had shown. He took a deep calming breath before continuing.

  “I shall make this plainer,” Kryven said. “There is no possible way you can hold Castle Vrell once I am able to concentrate the entire strength of my army. Captain, you can only delay me from getting what I want.”

  “That may be so,” Stiger admitted. General Kryven could only have gotten the information from prisoners he had taken, likely a scout captured prior to the last fight. The scout had most probably been tortured for the information. The thought infuriated the captain, though at the same time he understood he would have ordered the same to obtain such critical information. “However, I will see you pay for Vrell with rivers of blood.”

  General Kryven leaned back in his chair, an exasperated expression on his face. He shared a brief glance of disbelief with Ithax before looking back at Stiger.

  “Is this the famous Stiger stubbornness?” Kryven asked, raising an eyebrow. “I believe your father is called Stalwart Stiger, due to his stubborn defense at Aetella. I have read about that campaign. Am I incorrect?”

  “No, your facts are quite correct,” Stiger responded curtly, irritated that his father had been brought into the conversation. Time and again, he was judged by his father’s actions. Only General Treim had ever wei
ghed him on his own merit.

  “I will not take no for an answer,” Kryven said after a moment of silence. “I propose we adjourn and meet in four hours to continue our discussion, after you have given this matter additional thought.”

  Stiger almost smiled. It was past noon and he was looking to burn time. Four more hours of inaction suited him just fine. It might even mean that there would be no fighting today and he could continue to hold the defensive line into the next day.

  “I find that acceptable,” Stiger agreed. “I will consider your offer.”

  Kryven nodded and stood. Stiger stood as well.

  “Think hard,” Kryven said firmly, eyes narrowed. “After what you have done to my army, some of my officers feel my proposition is far more generous than you deserve.”

  “I understand.”

  Stiger turned and walked back to his lines with Eli and Blake following. Once they were out of earshot, Stiger turned to Eli.

  “He may be stalling for time,” Stiger said. “I want your scouts looking for a wide flanking movement.”

  “If there is one, we will find it,” Eli assured him.

  “Good,” Stiger said, stepping onto the planking that bridged the V-shaped trench. He stopped, turned and looked at Eli and Blake. “We have to be on our toes. That bastard Kryven knows what he is doing.”

  Once the three were back behind the fortified line, the planking was pulled in. With grunts of exertion, the gate was moved back into place. It fell with a solid thud.

  “I thought that went well,” Blake said, flashing Stiger a smile. “You both got along famously, sir.”

  “Can I call you the Tiger?” Eli asked with a full smile, filled with needle-like teeth.

  Eighteen

  “ARE YOU QUITE sure?” Braddock demanded of Garrack, standing up from his desk, where he had been working.