The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “I don’t understand.” Handi licked his lips. “I dispatched a messenger to you just as soon General Mammot made the decision to pull out, which was a hasty one at that. You see, the enemy had surprised us, stealing a march and flanking the encampment. Their movement threatened to cut us off from our supply.”

  “Oh really?” Stiger said.

  “Something must have happened to the messenger. We would not ever willingly abandon our own.” Handi took a breath that almost shuddered as he let it out. “Personally, I am shocked that you think we would have done such a thing.”

  Stiger could see the lie in the man’s eyes, as if it were plain as day. He felt the comforting tingle race from his palm up to his arm as he touched the hilt of his sword. The door to the prison had inched open again and Rarokan’s influence crept out. He itched to draw the blade, to end the life of this insufferable bastard. Despite being partially locked in his prison, Rarokan was still working to feed Stiger’s anger to goad him into action. Stiger resisted, for he’d long since learned it never ended well when he gave into the sword.

  “Let me tell you what I think happened.” Stiger stepped back toward the stool he had been using all day. He stopped and turned back to face Handi. “You, Mammot, and Kromen, if he still lived at the time, decided to abandon me.”

  Handi made to reply.

  Stiger raised a finger, forestalling him. “I know your type only too well. You, sir, are a player of camp politics, using and abusing your position for personal gain, making others suffer for your own edification. I do not know how you managed to attach yourself to Tioclesion, but you won’t find a ready host in me. You are a parasite, a leech, and utterly untrustworthy.”

  “But, on my honor,” Handi said in a strangled tone, “I …”

  “People like you have no honor,” Stiger growled. “You disgust me. You have no place at my side.”

  “But,” Handi said, “I never …”

  “Silence,” Stiger barked, using the voice of command he’d developed over years of leading men into battle. The tribune paled at the verbal onslaught. “Should you wish to redeem yourself,” Stiger continued, “I am sure General Treim can find an open vacancy for an officer of your caliber. After the recent fighting, he is certain to have need. Perhaps by leading men in the field, you might one day prove your worth, sir.” Stiger turned to Treim, struggling to contain his anger. “General, do you have a vacancy for a lieutenant? Preferably under a good officer that might make something of this man?”

  “I do, Imperator,” Treim said. “I have the perfect captain for it, Haxus.”

  “He’ll do,” Stiger said, remembering the cantankerous captain of Eighth Company from Third Legion. The man had been a friend of Corus, another captain in his old legion. But he’d not been an outright enemy, not like Corus.

  For a moment, Stiger wondered if Corus had died in the fighting or was somewhere in the city. He forced such thoughts aside. Corus was no longer important, not anymore.

  The general turned to Handi. “Stop by headquarters and an assignment will be given to you before the end of the day.”

  “But,” Handi said, looking toward Stiger, “I am useful. I have connections in the senate, influence … I … surely … you need me.”

  “I do not need your services,” Stiger said, taking a step nearer. “Now, leave … before I lose my temper and things become ugly.”

  Handi’s eyes had gone wild, looking everywhere but Stiger’s gaze. He turned finally to Nouma. “Are you going to let him talk to me that way? You said you could control him.”

  Nouma shot Handi a nervous glance but held his tongue. It was clear he had no intention of intervening. After an uncomfortable moment, it started to become apparent to Handi too.

  “I have known the emperor for many years,” Aetius said as the crowd outside continued to sing, so loud it required the colonel to raise his voice slightly. “You should consider yourself fortunate. You are being given a second chance. Now, I’d leave, son, while you still can. He is not the most forgiving of men, especially when he believes he’s been wronged.”

  Handi had gone thoroughly white in the face and his hands had begun shaking, whether from rage or fear, Stiger did not know. His shoulders slumped and he suddenly looked broken as he took another step back. He turned and fairly fled from the room, pausing at the doorway to shoot Stiger one last look that promised blood.

  Stiger, in his anger, had not realized he had taken a couple more steps toward Handi. He moved back to his stool and sat down before looking back up on Nouma.

  “I believe we were speaking of your duties and a donative?” Stiger asked.

  “Yes, Imperator, we were.” Nouma’s tone was a little less sure.

  “You would protect me,” Stiger said, “like you did with my predecessor, Tioclesion?”

  “It would be my honor,” Nouma said. “We would guard you with our lives, Imperator.”

  Stiger wanted to ask the man why he still lived when his former charge had fallen in battle, for surely he had not done his job. Stiger doubted Nouma could even stand in the press of the line with common legionaries.

  “I see.” Stiger shifted on the stool, settling into a more comfortable position. “And a donative would be a requirement for that service?”

  Nouma glanced toward the others, suddenly appearing uncomfortable. “We can negotiate the donative any time you desire and in private, Imperator. It binds the Guard to your person.”

  “I do not bribe those who work for me,” Stiger said, his gaze going to Ruga meaningfully. “Though there may occasionally be a reward for services rendered, I choose to trust them instead.”

  Nouma’s expression became rock-hard. Color rushed to his cheeks. “Trust?”

  “Yes,” Stiger said, “trust. It is a simple concept. They trust me to look after them and I trust them with my life.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Nouma spoke. “You can trust us, Imperator.”

  “As for my guard,” Stiger said, “like I told you, I already have Ruga and his men. I have no need to rely upon the Praetorian Guard.”

  “But, sir,” Nouma said, “I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”

  “There has been no misunderstanding.” Stiger’s anger was beginning to get the better of him. The sword still wanted blood, and even with Menos’s training, it was an effort to keep the floodgates closed. “I am well aware of the praetorians’ history and treacherous reputation.”

  “I must protest.” Nouma’s voice suddenly sounded weak. He likely was not accustomed to people standing up to him, even the emperor. Stiger wondered how much power the man had wielded over Tioclesion and his court. How much fear had Nouma held over others? How much injustice had been done at his hands and in the name of the emperor, whether commanded to do so or not?

  “There is no need to protest. The past deeds of the Guard are well known. You don’t like an emperor, or he does not pay enough to the Guard … you murder him,” Stiger said. “Perhaps his successor will learn a lesson? Be cowed by the Guard? Isn’t that the thinking?”

  “Again, I feel I must protest, Imperator,” Nouma spluttered. “That is quite unfair.”

  “Is it? I think not.” Stiger paused, looking over at Treim. “General Treim?”

  “Imperator?” Treim stepped forward.

  “Have the prefect’s men reassigned and their officers given commands suited to their ability levels,” Stiger said. “Roll them into one of your cohorts that is understrength.”

  “With pleasure, sir,” Treim said.

  “You can’t do this,” Nouma exclaimed.

  “I am emperor. And you just said you are answerable to me. I can do what I like.”

  “The senate will not stand for this,” Nouma said.

  “They are not here,” Stiger said, feeling utter contempt for the man, almost as much as he’d felt for Handi. “Are they?”

  The prefect did not respond.

  “Prefect Nouma, you are dismissed.”
r />   There was a long silence before Nouma, trembling with visible rage, turned and stalked from the room.

  “That,” Aetius said, once the prefect’s boots could no longer be heard out in the corridor, “may have not been the wisest of moves.”

  “You think I should have bargained with him?” Stiger asked. “Sold my throne and safety by buying the man with some spare silver? Colonel, you of all people should know, a bought man, especially one like that”—Stiger gestured toward the doorway—“doesn’t always stay bought for long. He has no honor and neither does the Guard. You need to keep paying them, repeatedly to purchase their loyalty … only they don’t have any, but to their own purse. My father learned that lesson the hard way during the civil war. It nearly cost my family everything. Come now, would you have people around me who did not have my best interests to heart?”

  “Of course not, Imperator,” Aetius said, his voice calm and steady. “But you might have handled it differently. There are over three hundred praetorians in the city. You could have heard him out and told him you would consider his words. Then, we would have had time to organize and send in sufficient men to disarm them before disbanding the Guard. Try it now and there will surely be trouble, maybe even bloodshed.”

  “He has a point,” Eli said, looking over at Stiger. “Sometimes you let your anger get the better of you. I think this is one of those moments.”

  Stiger felt himself scowl as he looked over at Eli. His anger had fully drained away. It was replaced with an intense frustration, a sense that he had just made a mistake.

  He gritted his teeth. Aetius was right. He should not have let his anger get the better of him. It was a lesson for the future. “I could have handled that better.”

  Aetius inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

  “Ruga,” Eli asked, “how many men did Nouma bring?”

  Stiger looked up sharply, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “About forty,” Ruga said. “All polished up, they looked quite pretty … not at all like men who’ve stood in a line of battle against a determined enemy.”

  Without a doubt, Stiger realized he had just acted foolishly, terribly so. Ruga had only twenty men, thirty if you counted those Aetius had assigned, and half of his men were stood down upstairs. In the sudden silence, the sound of those singing outside filled the room. The centurion’s eyes widened as he turned his gaze and met Stiger’s. It was clear they were thinking the same thing.

  “Get your men rousted,” Stiger ordered, standing and kicking the stool away. “Anyone who is outside on guard, get them inside right now. Send a man to the general’s headquarters for reinforcement. Hurry.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ruga turned and started for the door. Before he could reach it, there came shouts of alarm, followed by the ring of steel on steel.

  You should have killed them both, the sword hissed and Stiger knew without a doubt Rarokan was correct.

  Chapter Three

  Stiger watched as Ruga moved up to the doorway and looked out, down the hallway, toward the building’s entrance. The centurion’s two men were close behind him. Grim-faced, they had drawn their swords and were holding their shields ready. A quick look was all it took. Ruga hastily backed up, drawing his sword as well.

  “Quickly … block the doorway,” Ruga ordered as he stepped aside so his men could move forward. “No one gets through. Protect the emperor with your lives. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” both men said together as shouts, cries, and the harsh ring of steel could be heard out in the hallway. The guards who had stood on duty at the building’s entrance were clearly battling for their lives and, Stiger knew, being overwhelmed. There was no helping them. He felt wretched about that.

  Both took up a position just inside the doorway. Swords held at the ready, they locked their shields together with a solid thunking sound. Treim and Aetius drew their weapons, as did Eli, who pulled out a pair of long daggers that could nearly be called short swords in their own right. One of the blades was bent and angled, giving it a vicious look. To say Eli was proficient with the weapons was an understatement. He was deadly with them.

  Grinding his teeth in frustration, Stiger wrapped his hand around Rarokan’s hilt and pulled the dread weapon from its sheath. He had let his anger get the better of him and now there was a price to pay, a steep one, not just for him, but for those who served him. That pissed him off.

  Free of the scabbard and under the dim lamplight, the sword, feeding upon his anger, began to burn with blue fire. The fire was sullen at first, then grew with intensity until it began to outshine the lamps. The brightness seemed to match his anger. Stiger noticed Aetius’s and Treim’s eyes upon the blade in clear startlement. Stiger shifted his attention back to the doorway as a clipped scream sounded just beyond. It was followed by a thudding sound as a body hit the floorboards.

  A praetorian with a shield and bloodied sword appeared in the doorway a heartbeat later. The man was big and muscular, almost impossibly so, and stood over six feet. He had to hunch slightly to keep his head from bumping the low-hanging ceiling.

  Shield held before him, the praetorian immediately pushed his way forward at Ruga’s men, who were blocking entrance to the room. They met him with their own shields. Both sides battered at each other violently. Another praetorian joined the fight. This one carried a javelin. The limited space and the sheer bulk of his compatriot caused him to jab rather clumsily and ineffectually over and around the big praetorian.

  Shouts, curses, oaths, and the harsh clash of steel on steel could be heard in other parts of the building as the fighting spread. Stiger imagined that the praetorians were attempting to force their way up the stairs by the entrance to the second floor. He glanced at the windows. They were too small to make an egress.

  Stiger moved over to a window and looked out. The praetorians had formed a thin ring around the building, clearly with the intention of cutting off any escape. The crowd was still there but had backed up and away from the guardsmen. They were no longer singing but were looking on with what Stiger thought was apparent confusion. The guardsmen faced the crowd and were armed with shields and javelins, almost as if they feared the civilians might intervene.

  Once again, Stiger cursed himself. Before acting, he should have considered the consequences. He had been a fool. Worse, he did not even know the layout of the rest of the building. That was an unforgivable lapse. Stiger had long since learned the importance of knowing the lay of the land before setting up shop.

  “Ruga,” Stiger called, looking away from the window. He knew he had to ask to be sure. “Is there another exit?”

  Ruga looked around from the fight and, biting his lip, shook his head. “Even the windows upstairs are too small to fit through, sir. This place is built like a bloody fortress … which, given the circumstances, gives me some comfort.”

  “I wish Therik were here,” Eli said, “along with a few dozen more men. I think, when it comes to a fight, you can never have too many on your side.”

  “Wishes are like daydreams,” Stiger said. But he too wished Therik was with them. He glanced around the room. There was nothing they could use to block the doorway, no large pieces of furniture. It had all been removed. The thin cots in the bedrooms were useless to them. They were simply too flimsy. Even the door itself was missing. Like the shutters, the door had likely been broken up and gone to a fire for warmth or cooking.

  The fighting in the rest of the building seemed to intensify. It was clear Ruga’s men were putting up a serious fight. He had expected nothing different, for the centurion’s men were fighters.

  “There’s only the other staircase … the one at the front of the building, right?” Stiger asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Ruga pointed to the stairs. “It leads to the second floor, just like that one there.”

  “General.” Stiger turned to Treim. “We need to hold this position and, at all costs, the other stairway. Would you and the colonel kindly g
et to the second floor and see what good you can do there?”

  “We’ve got it.” Treim slapped Aetius on the shoulder. “Come on.”

  Aetius looked hesitant to leave but followed after the general. The two senior officers literally ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Stiger turned his attention back to the fighting. As he did, the big praetorian was jabbed deeply in the thigh with a short sword by one of Ruga’s men. Groaning, he collapsed to a knee, dropping his shield and weapon. He grasped the wound with both hands as it fountained blood. A heartbeat later, a legionary shield hammered into his face, knocking him violently to the floor, where he lay still and unmoving.

  The praetorian with the javelin stepped over the body of his comrade and swung the javelin down from above like a club. Shouting incoherently, he slammed it into the helmet of the legionary who had just taken down his comrade. The legionary stumbled backward, himself falling to a knee, clearly dazed.

  Without missing a beat, Ruga lunged forward and stabbed, punching his sword into the praetorian’s extended arm and cutting a chunk of flesh free. The man screamed, this time with agony.

  Dropping the javelin, he attempted to fall back but was shoved roughly forward from behind by another praetorian, who was trying to come up the narrow hallway and enter the room. Ruga jabbed again, this time just above the man’s armor, stabbing him through the collar. The guardsman shrieked, like a pig being slaughtered, before collapsing onto both knees, almost held in place by the centurion’s sword stuck in his collar. Ruga gave the sword a savage twist, eliciting yet another scream, this one weaker. The centurion placed his foot on the man’s chest and pushed with his leg, while also pulling the sword back. Blood, bone chips, and cartilage came with it. His finished opponent fell backward onto the floorboards and expired, spilling his blood out in a gush.

  To Ruga’s immediate left, the other legionary was roughly pushed back by a newcomer who charged forward past his dying comrade. This one was using his shield as a battering ram. The legionary fell back from the doorway as two more of the Guard followed the first and, using their shields, shoved their way forward, knocking Ruga back as well.