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

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  The minutes passed slowly as Brent’s force gave ground, fighting doggedly as they inched backward.

  “Let’s make this count,” Stiger shouted to the rearguard as Brent’s men came within ten feet, then five.

  “Time to earn your pay, boys,” Ranl shouted. “Make room for them to pass through then close up ranks quick-like.”

  Brent’s weary defenders began to pass into and through Ranl’s formation. A good number were lightly wounded and a few seriously so, but they remained in line, a credit to their toughness and discipline. Stiger wondered how many men he had lost. Once through, the front rank closed up and the enemy, who hesitated a moment in the face of a fresh force, pressed in with savagery, screaming as they came.

  “Nice work,” Stiger shouted to Brent. The noise of the fighting was deafening. “You delayed them long enough for nearly all of our men to escape. Get your boys moving down the path. Hurry now!”

  Brent nodded and began passing orders to his sergeant. About to join Ranl behind the rearguard, a thought suddenly occurred to Stiger.

  “Have you seen Eli?” Stiger asked, grabbing Brent’s arm and pulling the lieutenant close so that he could hear the reply.

  “I thought you knew, sir.” Brent blanched. “I am sorry, sir…the lieutenant fell to the enemy.”

  “What?” Stiger asked in a near whisper, completely shocked by the news. It was as if he had been punched in the gut. “Eli’s dead?”

  “I am sorry, sir,” Brent said again. “One of the scouts reported he was struck down. He is gone.”

  Stiger released Brent’s arm and stumbled backwards into Ranl, who turned to look at who had hit him from behind before returning to the action. Brent turned away to get his men moving for the path.

  “Gone,” Stiger whispered to himself, a hollow feeling in his heart. “No…”

  “Sir?” Ranl asked. Under pressure, the rearguard had begun to fall back one step at a time and the captain was in the way. “Are you okay?”

  The captain looked at the sergeant blankly.

  “Are you wounded, sir?” Grabbing the captain’s arm, Ranl pulled him along while at the same time quickly looking Stiger over for injury. He turned to Boral. “Take the captain down the path.”

  “No,” Stiger shouted, a rage boiling up in his breast. It was a terrible, desperate burning desire to kill every last one of the enemy, to make them pay. “I will fight. I am going to kill them all!”

  Ranl blinked in surprise as the captain drew his sword and threw himself forward toward the front rank, pushing between the legionaries and punching his sword forward. It scraped across the armored chest of an enemy. Stiger’s rage grew at not being able to bleed the man before him. His sword flared with a bluish light that illuminated those nearest. He jabbed again. This time, his sword easily slid through the man’s breastplate as if it were made of simple cloth and the enemy before him dropped like a stone. His next jab found the flesh of an enemy’s arm, tearing and cutting through tendon right to the bone. The enemy soldier dropped his sword, screaming, and was immediately swallowed up by his formation as the next man stepped forward to take his place.

  Stiger’s rage mounted and with it the sword burned brighter as he struck another man down. Those nearest flinched back as Stiger jabbed and stabbed, but the press from behind pushed them onward. A sword punched Stiger in the chest, point blocked by his armor but knocking him back slightly. The powerful blow momentarily stunned him, and with it, the sword’s fire dimmed.

  Sergeant Ranl waded into the press and grabbed Stiger in a vicelike grip, wrapping him in a bear hug, pulling him off his feet and backward, just as a sword punched out into the space where the captain had been. The ranks closed back up.

  “Let me go,” Stiger cried in a maddened rage, his sword flaring with brilliance, almost as if ignited by his rage. “I will kill them all for Eli!”

  “No, sir,” Ranl said, struggling with his captain. “You won’t.”

  Boral joined in and helped to hold Stiger back.

  “Sir,” Ranl said forcefully once they were a few feet away. “You need to get a grip! These boys here are counting on you!”

  Stiger struggled for a moment more before the words struck home. He blinked then forcibly brought himself under control and with it the sword’s brilliant glow died away. The sergeant was right. He had a deeper duty and responsibility. This was no time for selfishness. It was no time for revenge.

  “We need you here, sir,” Ranl stated firmly, giving the captain a physical shake and shooting a nervous glance at the captain’s sword. “I need you.”

  “I am here,” Stiger said, breathing heavily. “You are right. Sergeant, return to your post.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ranl said, looking relieved. He released hold of the captain and turned back to the fighting. A sharp glance from Ranl told Boral to stick with the captain. Boral nodded in reply. Stiger did not miss the exchange and mentally reprimanded himself for losing control.

  The fighting was intense as the rearguard held their ground for a few minutes at a time before retreating a few paces to once again stand their ground. This allowed those last few waiting their turn time to start down the path to escape. Each minute allowed more men through, and in less than ten minutes, only the rearguard remained inching closer toward escape.

  Sergeant Ranl brought the rear ranks up to the path, called for a rotation of the first rank and sent those men through. Rank by rank, men started down the path. All the while, the fighting to the front was ugly and hard. Corporal Durggen, nursing a wound to his right forearm, was pushed out of the line by Ranl and told to go. Clearly relieved, the corporal went, stepping by the captain and onto the path.

  The enemy finally realized that the legionaries were escaping and pressed in harder, yelling in their own language at the legionaries as they came on. The fighting became even more intense as the enemy threw themselves forward. Still, the legionaries fought doggedly on, using sword and shield to hold the enemy back.

  “Sir,” Ranl said when all that remained was the first rank, “it is time for you to go.”

  “No, sergeant,” Stiger said firmly. “You first. I will be along shortly.”

  Sergeant Ranl reluctantly turned and left Stiger commanding the last of the men. The captain stood to the side of the path, trees and brush piled around them. Thankfully, the opening to the path only allowed access to a few of the enemy at a time. The closer they got to the path, the more it narrowed, allowing one man at a time to step back and run to safety. In the close confines of the piled-up trees and brush, there was barely enough moonlight to see and much of the sword and shield play now was guesswork.

  The men kept backing up, with Stiger at their back, tapping one man at a time and telling him to go, until there were only two left.

  “Go,” Stiger snapped to the next man, who immediately took a big step back, turned and ran for all he was worth. The captain brought his shield up to cover the last man. He was about to tell him to go when the man’s shield was ripped away. Exposed, he was cut down under a flurry of sword strokes.

  Stiger turned and ran for the passage, finding Sergeant Boral waiting for him. The enemy saw them run and a cry went up. The chase was on as they rushed down the path, the enemy close behind.

  Twenty-Three

  STIGER SAT BEFORE his campfire, staring despondently into its depths. A cold wind made its way through the forest, rattling the leafless limbs above with its passing. Almost two weeks had passed since Eli’s passing and the loss still weighed heavily on his heart. It had been upon his orders that his closest friend had been sent to his death. Eli’s would be yet another shade that haunted his lonely nights, made more so by their closeness.

  Like all his men, he was tired, sore and weary. During the days that followed the big fight before the entrance to his defensive corridor, the enemy had changed tactics and pushed deeply into the forest along both sides of the road with light units while the main body worked to clear the road and advance.
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  Because of the loss of most of his trained scouts, Stiger’s small force had been closely dogged for the last week and a half as the enemy pursued him. Falling back had proven more difficult since Stiger could not use the road, which he had destroyed. He and his men had been forced out, away from the defensive corridor into the forest paralleling the road. His pace had been slower than he would have liked, owing to his decision to bring all his wounded with him as he fell back. He knew other officers would have abandoned the wounded without a second thought, but Stiger could not bring himself to do that. Many were carried on litters, which slowed their march considerably. Whenever the enemy got too close, there had been a handful of small, vicious skirmishes. In these instances, Stiger had felt compelled to turn and strike savagely at the forces dogging him.

  With each counterpunch, Stiger had managed to inflict heavy casualties and then disengage, falling farther back. In the last skirmish, he had even managed to completely annihilate an entire company before turning his tired and weary men back in the direction of Vrell. It had allowed him to finally put some space between his beleaguered force and those pursuing.

  The noise of the camp surrounded him as the men settled in for the night. They had stopped at the last defensive line that had been built. It lay along the road and just before Castle Vrell, which was less than ten miles distant. Stiger would have pushed straight onward, marching through the night, but his men were exhausted and needed rest, even if it was only for a few sparse hours. In the morning, well before sunrise, they would break camp and push onward to Vrell and the safety of her immense walls.

  Stiger threw a stick into the fire, which flared up, burning brightly. A long time ago, Eli had returned not only Stiger’s life, but his self-respect. Bitterly, he knew now he would never be able to repay his friend for that kindness.

  He rubbed at his tired eyes. He needed sleep more than anything else but knew if he tried, it would not come. Marcus’s latest report, delivered less than an hour before, was that two light infantry companies were camped no less than fifteen miles distant. Farther back, the enemy was working to clear the road one mile at a time and making good progress. It was a monumental task and one Stiger would have very much liked to impede. Unfortunately, with the loss of Eli and without a sufficient number of trained scouts, there was little he could do. Through sheer numbers alone, the enemy had the scouting advantage and with it came the initiative. Only three of Eli’s original force remained and they had been worked to exhaustion. Stiger feared if he turned to attack, he would potentially give the enemy a chance to visit destruction upon his weary force. He had done all he could to impede the enemy. It was time to return to Castle Vrell.

  Wishing he had never heard of Vrell, he pulled out his pipe, tapped it clean and filled it with the last of the captured tobacco. He tried to enjoy the taste, but found he could not. Instead, he continued to stare into the depths of his fire and think on the future, the dwarves and the coming spring.

  “The gods as my witness,” Stiger whispered to himself, “I will make them pay.”

  “Tea, sir?” Ikely asked. He was carrying a mug of tea that the cook had prepared.

  Stiger nodded gratefully and the lieutenant set the steaming mug down next him. Not making a move for it, the captain continued to stare into the fire. The lieutenant looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead turned away and went to his own campfire a few feet distant.

  A snowflake, illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, blew past Stiger’s nose, quickly followed by another. Obscured by heavy cloud cover, there was no moon. Beyond the firelight of the camp, it was pitch black, as if a veil had dropped across the land. Watching the flakes continue to fall, Stiger wondered briefly if this might herald the first significant snowfall of the winter. He hoped it would. Anything that made the enemy’s life more difficult appealed to him.

  He tossed another stick into the fire. Then he picked up the tea, which had cooled and took a sip. Though the enemy had paid dearly, Stiger’s casualties had also been heavy, numbering over two hundred and fifty, including…Eli. Yes, his men needed a prolonged period of rest to recover, at least one lasting for several weeks. Once back at Vrell and behind the castle’s walls, they would get it.

  Lieutenant Lan had reported that large numbers of dwarven warriors had arrived at the castle, with more showing up daily. It had taken some convincing for the lieutenant to accept the fact that the dwarves were now allies. Stiger had traded no less than four dispatches with Lan, until he had tired and simply ordered the lieutenant to allow the dwarves into the castle and to cooperate with them.

  The lieutenant had also reported that the dwarves had brought along a number of gnomes. According to Lan’s dispatches, the little creatures were half the size of a dwarf and malicious. The dwarves had advised him to simply let the gnomes alone. Both the dwarves and gnomes were working tirelessly to help strengthen the castle’s defenses.

  Looking back on his campaign to slow and delay the enemy, Stiger felt like he had failed. Losing Eli was a failure in and of itself. Yet he knew deep down that he had not failed. The enemy was always going to get to Vrell regardless of his actions. The only thing Stiger had changed was their timing. So in the end, he had succeeded in what he had set out to do. Not only had the enemy been sufficiently delayed, he had secured a powerful ally to boot. With the dwarves’ help, it was a certainty that he could hold the castle and the valley for the empire.

  Stiger suspected that Braddock and he were of a like mind when it came to dealing with the enemy. Still, he could not see anything happening until spring, for soon the pass would be snowed in. The winter months would be devoted to rest, recovery and training. He took another pull on his pipe and then nearly froze with alarm.

  Though he was surrounded by campfires, with his men settling in for the night, Stiger sensed something was wrong. A presence lurked behind him, no more than a few feet away. Stiger’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Another assassination attempt? His sword lay next to him, leaning against the stump he was sitting on. Casually, he tapped out his pipe, sprinkling the ashes onto the cold ground, before setting it next to him. He leaned back, as if stretching and prepared to reach for his blade.

  “You know, one might rashly conclude you perhaps made an error in judgement when turning down a comfortable life at court,” a familiar voice said. Stiger was dumbstruck and then he leapt to his feet. A heavy and dark weight lifted from his heart as Eli stepped by him and up to the fire. The elf was grinning as he drew in the warmth from the blaze, holding out his hands to warm them. “We both know Miranda would have loved to keep you, ah, shall we say…close. The word is close, yes?”

  “A life at court is not for me,” Stiger said, a slight catch in his throat. He cracked a smile, the first one in days. Eli’s alive! “Besides, the only woman for me is Tehver’Na.”

  Eli chuckled softly at the jest. He selected a log a few feet away and sat down, looking over at his friend. “Her father would see you dead first, of that I am sure.”

  “Perhaps.” Stiger was grinning too. “We wouldn’t really know until I asked for her hand.”

  “Yes,” Eli said with mock seriousness. “I am confident he would end your days for even the mere suggestion of such a union.”

  They looked at each other. “You’re really all right?” Stiger asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Better than you, methinks. You look like shit…that is the right saying?”

  “Yes, that is the correct saying,” Stiger chuckled and wiped at his eyes. He could hardly believe it. “And I feel like shit too…though not so bad now.”

  Ikely, at his own fire, heard his captain’s chuckle and looked up. Jumping up with an excited shout, he rushed over.

  “Eli,” Ikely said, clapping the elf on the shoulder. “We thought you were dead! However did you manage to survive?”

  “I fear I almost did not.” Brushing aside his hair, Eli showed the side of his head, which was badly bruised. “I was hit by someth
ing sufficiently blunt to put me down. When I came around, I found I had been pulled aside by my new friends.”

  “New friends?” Ikely asked. “What are you talking about?”

  Eli nodded behind the captain, in the direction of Stiger’s tent. They turned to look. Standing beside the captain’s tent was a redheaded elven woman, along with two other male elves. All three were dressed in soft leathers of woodland green and brown, the kind that elven rangers preferred. They carried bows slung across their backs and short swords at their sides. The female elf stepped forward while the other two remained where they were. Her intense eyes were fixed upon the captain.

  “Captain Stiger and Lieutenant Ikely,” Eli said formally, standing. “May I present Taha’Leeth, daughter to Lord Taha’Efan of the Lorica.”

  Stiger stood and formally bowed, as did Ikely. The captain had lived for a time with elves and found her name interesting. Elves were organized into what could be described loosely as tribes, or perhaps even extended families, with each one being headed by a Lord. This effectively meant that Taha’Leeth was the equivalent of a princess. More interesting to the captain, Stiger had never heard of the Taha. Only one who had lived among elves for an extended period of time would have picked up on it. Stiger looked questioningly at Eli.

  “She is not of my people,” Eli explained, understanding the captain’s unspoken question. “She and her people come from across the Narrow Sea far to the South.”

  Stiger studied Taha’Leeth and her two companions. Like all elves, they looked capable and confident.

  “The elven nations have an accord with the Empire. What were they doing working for the enemy?” Stiger asked, returning Taha’Leeth’s gaze. She betrayed no emotion, but continued to look at him with unblinking eyes. Stiger felt his heart flutter. Her eyes seemed so deep they were bottomless. Stiger shook himself slightly and glanced over at Eli when his friend did not answer. “Well?”