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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Garrack shot Ogg a concerned look before shaking his head and following after the others.

  Stiger saw that General Kryven was waiting as before with his two officers. Seated, he was looking off to the side, legs crossed, seemingly unconcerned about the forthcoming parley. Stiger knew it was all show. As they approached, one of the general’s officers, Ithax, saw them. With a start, he excitedly leaned forward to speak to the general. Kryven turned to look at them then leapt to his feet in a rage, his chair falling backward.

  “Captain,” Kryven said, spitting on the ground in disgust. “I see that my opinion of you was wholly wrong. You debase yourself by consorting with such animals!”

  Stiger stopped several feet from the table, hand resting calmly on the hilt of his sword. The familiar tingle felt slightly reassuring. From Ogg’s comment, Stiger had been expecting trouble and so he had not been surprised at the general’s visceral reaction. The general appeared to recognize Braddock and Garrack as dwarves, which meant he had encountered the thane’s people before. That surprised Stiger. Kryven glared furiously at the two dwarves. Any hint of the refined gentleman Stiger had met was gone.

  “I have considered your offer,” Stiger began but was cut off by Kryven, who waved a hand in dismissal.

  “I withdraw it,” Kryven snarled with hatred. “I will destroy you, captain, as I destroyed the dvergrish trash in my homeland. There will be no mercy, no quarter! For bringing these animals into my presence, I will have your head pickled and preserved as an example to all others.”

  Stiger scowled at this. He did not much take to threats, but that was not what bothered him. He looked over at Braddock in question. Why did the dwarves inspire such hatred?

  “Where is he from?” Braddock asked Stiger.

  “The Cyphan Confederacy, located to the far south and across the Narrow Sea,” Stiger said, keeping a wary eye on Kryven and his officers.

  “Garand Tome,” Garrack breathed in shock to Braddock. “You don’t think he speaks of that?”

  “Yes…I destroyed Garand Tome,” Kryven said, looking Garrack squarely in the eyes. “I broke open that cesspit of corruption you people pathetically called a city and killed ever last dvergr I could find. Though it cost me many fine men, I cleansed that rat hole for the good of the world.”

  Stiger glanced over at Braddock, who seemed deeply stunned by what he had just heard. The dwarf took a half step backward and stumbled, almost falling to his knees. Stiger caught the dwarf by the arm and steadied him. Braddock was heavier than he appeared. Garrack seemed just as affected by the general’s words.

  “I had kin in Garand Tome…” Braddock said, going deathly white in the face.

  “No longer,” Kryven hissed with a savage smile. “I will do to you as I did to them.”

  “Why?” Braddock asked in a near whisper.

  The general cast one last scathing look at Stiger, whirled and started back to his lines. In the general’s haste, he had left his helmet resting on the table.

  “My sword has drunk much dvergrish blood,” said Ithax, with a smile aimed at the two dwarves. “I particularly enjoyed killing your womenfolk and children.”

  Braddock roared in rage and shook Stiger off, easily knocking the captain aside. The thane drew his sword and charged, moving surprisingly fast for his size. Ithax stumbled backward, attempting to draw his own weapon, but it was too late.

  Braddock was on the man and with a powerful thrust, his blade punched right through Ithax’s armor, cutting deeply into his bowels and picking him up off the ground. Ithax gave a heavy grunt as his feet left the ground and the sword exploded from his back. Dark blood gushed out, coating the thane’s arm and chest. Braddock snarled, leaned forward, and released the hilt. Mortally wounded, Ithax fell heavily on his back, to the ground, blade digging into the earth and pinning him firmly in place.

  The other officer, Kevern, managed to draw his sword and was raising it to strike. Braddock stepped forward before the sword could be brought down and struck him with a blow from his fist, square on the jaw. So violent was the strike that the man’s head snapped back with an audible crack and he crumpled to the ground, neck hanging at an unnatural angle.

  General Kryven turned, having only gone several feet. He saw what had been done and his eyes widened in surprise and fear. Braddock looked over at Ithax, who writhed on the ground, unable to free himself. The thane stepped up to him and casually set a boot on his chest and gripped the sword. He gave it a powerful twist and jerk, severing the enemy officer’s spine with a solid crack. Ithax moved no more.

  It had all happened so fast that Blake, Eli and Stiger stood stunned, watching the thane vent his rage. The captain had not even had time to draw his sword.

  “I am Braddock Uth’Kal’Thol,” Braddock roared in heavily accented common for all to hear. He directed himself toward the enemy’s position, a little over one hundred and fifty yards distant. The men there were just realizing that something had gone horribly wrong with the parley. “Thane of the Mountains, Ruler of the Clans of the Dvergr and Guardian of the Gate. I, who will call forth the clans, swear blood oath this day. I swear by my god and all others I will see the Cyphan Confederacy destroyed. Nothing shall be saved! All who come beneath my blade shall be put to the sword, your cities torn down, your people scattered, reduced to nothing but homeless vagabonds. I will salt your fields so that nothing will grow for an age! I will piss on the grave that was once your nation. When I am finished, your people shall be but a memory. No dvergr will rest until this truth has come to pass. We will avenge our kin of Garand Tome. You will know our vengeance, for we are coming.”

  Braddock turned his eyes to General Kryven, who had been rooted to his spot. The general seeming to realize his peril, turned and ran. Leaving the sword in Ithax’s body, Braddock calmly pulled out a finely made dagger. Not seeming to be rushed or hurried, he took his time and threw it with deadly accuracy. It struck Kryven in the back of the neck with a meaty thwack, severing the artery, as evidenced by a massive gush of blood. The man went down like a ragdoll.

  Braddock tipped his head back and let loose a roar of pure primal rage. He took several deep breaths and then, with a sucking sound, he calmly pulled the sword from Ithax’s body and stumped up to the fallen General Kryven, bloodied sword in hand. He looked down on Kryven for a moment, then calmly retrieved his dagger and cleaned it on Kryven’s cloak before returning it to its sheath. Braddock then raised his sword and with a single powerful blow, he separated General Kryven’s head. There was a collective groan from the enemy lines. Braddock ignored them as he picked up the general’s severed head by the hair and stomped back to Garrack.

  “His skull will make a fine drinking stein,” Braddock said as he threw it to Garrack. “Keep it safe, will you?”

  “Aye, my Thane,” Garrack said, deftly catching the head.

  Stiger understood he had to gain control of the situation. For better or worse, he had tied himself to his new allies. He glanced at the enemy, who were now shouting, working themselves up into a proper rage at the murder of their leader. Stiger came to the conclusion that a fight would be inevitable.

  “I think it might be wise to head back,” he suggested. He turned and started walking, with Eli and Blake following behind.

  “I like how they negotiate.” Eli grinned at Stiger. “You could almost say Braddock made his point.”

  Stiger rolled his eyes at Eli, then hesitated and glanced back. The dwarves had not moved. Garrack, holding the grisly trophy, glanced over at the captain. Stiger nodded meaningfully toward Braddock, who stood with his back to the captain and gazed upon his newfound enemy.

  “My Thane,” Garrack said, coming up and placing a hand upon Braddock’s shoulder. “It is time to go. Our time will come.”

  Braddock nodded, wiped his sword clean upon his leg and slid it back into the scabbard. He turned his back on the enemy and followed Stiger, Eli and Blake off the field.

  They walked across the planking, behind t
he humans. The legionaries manning the fortifications watched the two dwarves in stunned silence as they entered the gate.

  Garrack held up General Kryven’s head, high as he could, for all to see. He barked out a triumphant shout. The legionaries roared back with approval.

  “My kind of people,” Garrack commented to Braddock as the legionaries continued to roar away. Ogg, standing next to Father Thomas, abruptly giggled uncontrollably at the sight.

  “Close the gate,” Stiger ordered to Blake and Ikely. “Get all of the men back to the wall. I expect that Kryven’s second in command will want blood for blood. The enemy will attack us shortly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Blake said and started shouting orders, recalling everyone to the wall, which was soon taken up by the corporals.

  “Thane Braddock,” Stiger addressed him. “What are your intentions?”

  “I freely join your war against these people. Circumstances now dictate that this goes beyond the boundaries of the Compact. We will fight at your side and annihilate them entirely.”

  The thane held out a large, calloused hand to the captain. Stiger hesitated a moment before he took it, the dwarf’s large and powerful hand swallowing his own. Behind them, Ogg began to laugh maniacally.

  “In two days,” Braddock said, ignoring the wizard, “I can have three thousand warriors at Grata’Kor, what you call Castle Vrell and another fifteen thousand over the next three weeks.”

  “We will stand with you in defense of valley,” Garrack added. “As Legate Delvaris once stood with us.”

  Stiger felt overwhelming relief. He also felt pride in his ancestor, something he never thought to feel.

  “Legate,” Braddock added with an intense look. “You can safely fall back on Grata’Kor. Snow or no, we will hold the fortress together and once my army is assembled, we will take the fight to the enemy.”

  “It will be an honor to fight by your side in the defeat of our mutual enemies,” Stiger said.

  He looked up at the position of the sun. A massed roar sounded from the enemy’s direction as they shouted their rage at the defenders of the line for the killing of their general. A fight today was almost guaranteed, of that Stiger was sure. The enemy would want revenge and any fighting was likely to be hot and heavy. If he had to pull off the line, it would be safer to do it after night fell, when the day’s fighting petered out. Should he pull out immediately, he would be giving up an extremely defensible position and risk a potentially dangerous fighting withdrawal, essentially a running battle, back to the next defensive line through the torn-up road during daylight.

  The more he thought on it, the more it made sense to hold until nightfall. With the day more than well-half-gone, Stiger had no doubt he could do it. Once the fighting for the day ended, he would be able to withdraw under the cover of darkness.

  “I fear I may be compelled to hold this line at least until nightfall, when we can safely withdraw.”

  “Do what you must,” Braddock said, “but take no more risk, as there is little point in doing so. Get your men safely behind the walls of Grata’Kor. Have no fear, Legate. Together we will annihilate that vile army out there.”

  “My Thane,” Ogg said. “It is time we return.”

  “Can’t you stay and help us?” Stiger asked of the wizard. “Rain death and fire upon the enemy, as their wizard did to us?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Ogg said, turning his gaze upon Stiger. “I cannot stay. There are important things I must attend to. Besides, Braddock has work to do as well.”

  “I do,” Braddock said. “I must get my army moving as soon as possible.”

  “What if they have another wizard?” Stiger asked, still hoping to convince the wizard to stay and lend a hand.

  “You handled the first one so well,” Ogg said with a giggle. He then appeared to struggle with himself, fighting down another giggle. He became serious. “Legate Stiger, you need not worry about the enemy having another wizard, at least for the present. The gods permit this plane six alone. I know them all. Yes, even the fool your elf here brought low. There is only one other, The Master of the Green Tower, who might be tempted to take up common cause with our mutual enemy. Should she decide to become involved, she will come for me first. Neither she nor I know the outcome of such an encounter, which is the reason she has not yet made her move. It is why I must conserve and store all the energy I am able. Holding onto so much of the gods’ energy is slowly driving me mad. Though I wish to stay and assist you, I cannot afford to squander the energy I have stored, nor can I afford the little time left to me. I trust you will understand.”

  Stiger blinked at Ogg’s explanation. Before Stiger could say more, Ogg lifted his staff and brought it down hard on the ground. The oddly-shaped crystal flared brightly, causing Stiger to shield his eyes. There was a sound of sucking of wind, followed by a clap of thunder. When Stiger looked, the three dwarves were gone.

  Twenty

  LIEUTENANT IKELY WAS standing on the top of the earthen rampart. He had his hands on top of the rough barricade, which came chest high, as he leaned forward to get a better view.

  “Here they come!” Sergeant Blake shouted, looking out over the top of the wooden barricade. The sergeant was pointing toward the edge of the field, beyond the fortification. Just outside of the tree line, the enemy had massed a line of three infantry companies on the edge of the field. Gaps were opening in the enemy line of battle and men were pouring through onto the field in small groups.

  It appeared they were carrying what looked like large rafts, made up of small tree trunks that had been lashed together. Ikely instantly understood these were bridges meant to cross the trench. He counted six teams. They were holding the bridges over their heads. A quick count revealed ten men to a bridge. Two-man teams emerged next, lugging large bundles of sticks bound together. These, the lieutenant figured, were aimed at filling the trench, though Ikely did not see how they could hope to fill it. Behind came serval more teams with scaling ladders. The ladder teams did not start across the field like the bridge crews and those carrying the bundled sticks, but instead set the ladders down on the ground, just to the front of the line of battle, which was waiting for the order to move forward.

  Clearly, Ikely thought, they were not idle during the negotiations.

  It wasn’t the bridges, bundles of sticks or the ladders that worried Ikely the most. It was the infantry. They were uniformly armed and equipped, which suggested a professional, disciplined organization. They looked much more competent than the near rabble that had been faced previously.

  A snowflake drifted lazily by, followed by a handful more. Ikely scratched at his stubbled jaw as he considered the enemy infantry. He turned to Sergeant Ranl, helmet in hand as he adjusted the felt padding inside for comfort before putting the heavy thing on and securing the straps. “Sergeant, bring the archers up.”

  A legionary waited off to the side with Ikely’s shield. The lieutenant beckoned to him, who handed it over. Ikely thanked the man, who then returned to his post along the barricade.

  “Archers, move up!” Ranl snapped to the thirty men who were waiting behind them at the base of the earthen rampart by about ten yards. The archers, mostly composed of dismounted cavalry troopers who had been run through a hasty archery course, rushed up to the top and to the edge of the wooden barricade.

  “Target the center bridge,” Ikely shouted to the archers. They had previously spotted and marked the ground across the field to the front for both the archers and artillery. Ikely realized, with the bridge carriers holding their bridges above their heads, they would make difficult targets. He considered ordering the archers to target the teams with the bundles of sticks and then immediately dismissed that idea. The bridges were the more immediate threat.

  “Archers at the ready,” Ranl roared. The archers nocked and raised their bows to the correct angle, aimed and drew back. Ikely held his hand up in the air.

  “Loose,” Ikely shouted and dropped his arm. Thirty arrow
s arced up into the air and fell amidst those carrying the middle bridge. The majority of the missiles impaled themselves in the top of the bridge. One of the carriers screamed, an arrow lodged in his leg. Staggering, he was knocked down by the man behind to be trampled by others on his team, who kept moving forward without interruption. Ikely pursed his lips at the poor result.

  “Fire at will…bring that middle bridge down,” Ikely shouted and the archers began picking individual targets. Thirty more arrows arced up, this time in a ragged volley, and came down with better results, hitting three men, two of whom immediately collapsed. The third was struck in the chest. He staggered on for several more steps before also collapsing to the side, hands grasped around the arrow shaft as he writhed in agony. The heavy bridge continued on for a few feet before abruptly tilting to the side. It crashed to the ground, crushing two of the men at the front. Their screams carried across the field.

  “Continue to focus on the bridges,” Ikely shouted and the archers set to work, each picking his own target.

  “Sir,” Ranl spoke up, palm of his hand resting on the top of his sword hilt while his fingers rapped it. With his other hand, he gestured across the field. “How about we hammer that line there with some artillery fire?”

  The enemy would have most of the bridges in place shortly and that meant the infantry would soon begin their assault. Ikely decided the sergeant was right. It was time to begin softening up the infantry. “Yes, let’s show them what they are in for. Have the catapults made ready for one hundred eighty.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ranl replied and passed along the orders, shouting back to Corporal Durggen. The sergeant pulled out a small blue flag from underneath his armor, where he had tucked it in and held it ready.

  Ikely turned back to the action. Another bridge went down. It crashed to the ground, where the force of the impact snapped the lashings and it came apart. The rest of the bridges would make it, he realized. There were just not enough archers to make a real difference. Once the bridges were laid, the enemy infantry would advance. Then the real fighting would begin.