The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Emperor Stiger,” a lone voice called. “We have answered your call. Will you come out and see your people, bless them with your presence?”

  Stiger stepped to the doorway, where the two legionaries still stood, their shields up and held at the ready. They looked at him nervously, unsure.

  “Sir,” Ruga said. “Were I you, I’d not go out there.”

  “Stand aside,” Stiger said to the two men, then looked back over at the centurion. “I’ll be fine.”

  The legionaries stepped aside, setting the bottoms of their shields down on the floor. Stiger moved out into the hallway. It was drenched in blood. Several bodies lay on the floor, including civilians and one of Ruga’s men, the one he had seen earlier.

  Two civilians wearing brown tunics stood by the entrance to the building, as did a priest. They looked ragged, half-starved. Their clothing was threadbare and dirty. Both carried short swords that had been bloodied up to their hilts. They eyed Stiger with deadened, exhausted gazes, which shifted from him to Rarokan.

  Stiger realized he still had his sword out. It was glowing brilliantly, lighting the hallway around him. In a silent fury, tongues of blue flame licked at the air. He hesitated a moment, then started down the hallway toward the two men. They stepped backward and out onto the street.

  “Are you he?” the priest asked as Stiger neared the doorway. “Are you Emperor Stiger?”

  “I am.”

  “Gods blessed.” The priest made the sign of the High Father.

  Their expressions instantly changed. The deadened looks vanished. In their gazes, Stiger saw hope and something more. Was it faith? Love? Or was it a mixture of both? The beginning of zealotry? He had a sudden memory of Therik telling him such things were fleeting … that it could all be snatched away in a heartbeat.

  “Remember,” Stiger breathed to himself, “you are mortal.”

  “Praised be the High Father.” One of the men pointed his sword down into the ground and knelt, head bowed. The other followed a heartbeat later, assuming the same position of respect.

  Just before stepping out onto the street, Stiger hesitated. He looked left, toward the other staircase. He saw several of Ruga’s legionaries on the stairs and Treim behind them. A number of bodies, all praetorians, lay in a heap on the landing, clearly their work. Stiger gave the general a slow nod and, with that, stepped outside. Bowing respectfully, the priest moved aside for him.

  “I stand ready to serve, Champion,” the priest said.

  Stiger gave a nod and gazed around. In the rapidly dimming light of the day, there were thousands of people gathered on the street. They had grown thoroughly silent as he appeared. There was not a whisper on the air. It was as if all were collectively holding their breath. Every eye, it seemed, was on him.

  Parts of praetorians littered the ground … an arm ripped from a socket, a head, a mutilated body next it. The purple cloak had been torn away and discarded. Blood was all over the street before him. Nowhere did he see Nouma or Handi. Their bodies were likely somewhere amongst the tightly packed throng of civilians. Both would have to be found sooner than later, to confirm they had been killed.

  Stiger’s sword still burned with an ethereal fire, long blue tongues of flame licking at the air, even more violently than before. Behind him came Eli, then Ruga. Treim and Father Restus followed a few heartbeats later.

  Almost as one, the crowd went to a knee, bowing their heads as respectfully as the first two men he had encountered. Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered them. Imperials knelt to no one, only their god. He suddenly had no idea what to do or how to respond. He could deal with soldiers, but civilians?

  “I believe,” Eli said in a low voice that only the two of them could hear, “they deserve a thank you and a few kind words. Don’t you think?”

  Stiger glanced back at his friend. Eli was right … more than right. These people deserved a thank you and then some. Ragged and desperate as they were, they had risked all they had left, their lives against the swords and javelins of the Praetorian Guard, to save him. They deserved more … they deserved to hope again … to believe, something to work toward, an ultimate goal. That was what he would give them. He returned his attention to the crowd and gathered his thoughts.

  “I came here, to Lorium, to save you,” Stiger shouted, using his parade ground voice so as many as possible could hear him. He well understood that word of what happened here would spread and grow in the telling, likely for years to come. If he was successful, it might even become something akin to legend, something that would motivate people in the hard months ahead. “I came to save the empire. As his Champion, the High Father has charged me with this solemn duty, a burden I willingly bear, but an honor no less. I have been greatly blessed, as has the empire, for the High Father is most assuredly on our side.”

  Stiger paused, running his gaze around the crowd. The heads had come up and all eyes were once again upon him, though everyone still knelt. It seemed as if the crowd hung on his every word.

  “As I said, I came to save you. Instead, you saved me and in doing so saved the empire we all love. For that, you have my heartfelt thanks and gratitude.” He paused briefly to allow that to sink in. “I promise to repay that debt. I swear I will do everything within my power to return your kindness. To my dying breath, I will defend the empire, defend you, and defeat the Cyphan Confederacy. You live on the edge of the empire, but each of you is the empire.” Stiger sucked in a breath. “Your anger, my anger”—he thumped his chest with a fist—“our anger has been well earned. Yet, I cannot do this alone, not by myself. Today, you have shown me that. This is something that all of us will do together. Each of us will have a hand in defeating the confederacy. Whether you are a soldier or civilian … each of us has an important part to play. And when it is said and done, the empire will be stronger, and our enemy … will rue the day they came against us, for it shall have proven to be the day of their undoing.”

  Stiger paused as he gathered his thoughts once again for the next part. He thought suddenly on what had been done to the civilians in Aeda by the enemy, the mass slaughter, the crucifixions along the road. The Cyphan followed a dark god and had more than earned what was coming. His anger flared, and with it, the sword burned brighter.

  “With the High Father’s help,” Stiger continued, “we will stamp out their evil. Our vengeance will be terrible and unforgiving. It will be delivered without mercy and quarter. We will set an example with the confederacy that will be remembered for an age. By the High Father … I swear to see it done, and with your help, it will be done. I just ask that you help me see it through to the end. Join with me in getting it done.”

  There was a long moment of silence. For a heartbeat or two, Stiger wondered if he had misjudged, for no one moved or reacted. The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity, then the crowd, as if of one mind, abruptly sprang to their feet and began madly cheering. No, he had not misjudged them. He had succeeded. He had given them hope, something to believe in, something to work toward, a cause. His coming and saving the city had restored their faith, in not only the empire, but more importantly, the High Father. He could see it, feel their faith … faith in their lord and in him.

  Stiger held Rarokan up in the air above his head. Seeming to feed upon the energy of the crowd, the sword blazed anew with fiery light, casting those assembled directly before him in a bath of the purest blue. The crowd cheered louder, more exuberantly. A chant began to form, with just a few at first. More took it up. In moments, all were shouting the same thing. The air thundered with it, hammering at the ears, much louder than any battle he had ever heard.

  “STIGER … STIGER … STIGER.” The crowd continued to chant. On and on it went. “STIGER … STIGER … STIGER … STIGER!”

  He turned to Eli and leaned over so he could be heard over the chant of his name.

  “This is the power of the mob,” Stiger said to the elf. “It is never to be underestimated. That is why the senate and the rest o
f the nobility rightly fear the people … for though they don’t realize it themselves, true power lies within their hands.”

  Eli gave a simple nod, and with that, Stiger straightened. He sheathed Rarokan before stepping forward and moving into the crowd. They stepped aside for him and drew slightly away. Almost tentatively, like children, many, with tears in their eyes, closed back in upon him and began to reach out. All they wanted was a simple touch … his shoulder, his arm, side, or back. They wanted a personal connection, no matter how brief, with the man, their emperor, the Champion of their faith and, by extension, their divine god, the High Father.

  Women kissed him on the cheek or his hand. Stiger denied them nothing, for through their actions, they had given him a path for the future. They had also saved the empire.

  A child, a boy no more than six, patted his leg, drawing his attention. Just skin and bones, the child was clearly starved. His clothes were tattered, and he was filthy, likely vermin-ridden. He looked like he had recently lost one of his front teeth. The sight of the child tore at Stiger’s heart. This boy deserved better. Stiger resolved to see that he got it.

  He was about to move on when the boy gave him a huge gap-toothed smile that was infectious. The child’s spirit seemed irrepressible. Stiger returned the boy’s smile, and reaching down, he tousled his hair before continuing on, moving amongst his people. Like the legion, they were his and he was theirs.

  As you are mine, Rarokan hissed in his mind. Together, we are one.

  Chapter Four

  Conscious that thousands upon thousands of eyes were upon him, Stiger stood straight as he could. He had personally polished and cleaned his armor to the point where, under the late-day sun, it gleamed. His kit had been badly in need of a thorough, deep cleaning. The job had taken hours of work, but at the same time, the tedium had been calming to the mind. He had always enjoyed that. It gave him time to think.

  A light wind gusted around him, stirring his tattered blue cape and wrapping it around his left leg. With a hand, Stiger pushed it behind him. He had yet to adopt the imperial purple. That would come soon enough.

  Just behind him, formed up, were both the Third and Thirteenth Legions. Third Legion spread outward to his left and on his right was the Thirteenth, along with her auxiliary cohorts. Century and cohort standards rose above the neat block-like ranks. Two imperial Eagles were out too, their bearers positioned before each legion. The gold paint on each Eagle glinted brilliantly with flashes of reflected sunlight.

  To their front, a massive funeral bier had been constructed. On it, draped in rich purple robes, lay the late emperor’s body. The bier had been completed the day before. Tioclesion had been moved from the city and placed there around noon. The process had turned into a veritable parade, for much of the city had turned out to watch the body pass.

  Once the body was installed on the funeral bier, seven priests of the High Father, under the close supervision of Father Restus, had gone to work. They held an open service, where any who wanted could attend. After that, for two hours, civilians from the town had been permitted to come by and pay their respects. Many openly wept as they laid flowers or tossed coin onto the funeral bier. The coin was payment for the ferryman’s services. The flowers represented their regard for the late emperor. Then, the rituals, songs, and chants had begun as the priests worked to help prepare the way into the next life for Tioclesion’s spirit.

  All throughout it, the two legions, along with Stiger, had stood by and watched. And like the sides of a great box, the bier was now ringed on the left by the combined dwarven and gnome armies. On the right side of the box were the elves and the two new auxiliary cohorts General Treim had formed from the men of fighting age the city had to offer. Opposite the two legions, on the far side of the box, stood masses of civilians from the city. For many from the city, the sight of the dwarves, gnomes, and elves had proven intense and fascinating curiosities.

  The Vass were not present. Jeskix and Arol had left earlier in the morning, taking most of their dragons to the south to link up with their army marching north. They had left the legion four dragons for protection against the enemy’s wyrms. Two of those dragons would carry Stiger and a handful to Mal’Zeel, before returning to the army.

  Jeskix had told him if the opportunity presented itself, the Vass might deal with the small enemy army that had crossed the Narrow Sea far to the south. If not, then they would march northward and join him. If they could manage to deal with the Cyphan, it would be one less headache for him. If not … well, then Stiger would just have to focus on that enemy army when they became a problem.

  Menos and Ogg had left as well. The two had not even told him they were leaving. That had been surprising. Both had just gone. To his incredible frustration, Stiger had only found that out this morning from Braddock. The thane had no idea where they’d gone or what they were up to. He was just as perplexed and irritated as Stiger.

  When he had gone to ask Menos’s mate, Currose had informed him she was remaining with the army for the foreseeable future. Having a noctalum with them, even if she was still recovering from her wounds, was a serious advantage. That was a bonus at least.

  Still, as if to frustrate him further, she would not tell him why both her mate and the wizard had gone. Stiger thought he detected worry in the noctalum. Whatever the reason, they were likely doing something dangerous.

  Sensing movement, Stiger glanced down as Dog padded up. The shaggy-looking animal sat by his side, so close he brushed against Stiger’s leg.

  “And where have you been?” Stiger asked. When the army had arrived, Dog had not been with it.

  Dog looked up at him with sad brown eyes and gave a soft whine. The animal tilted his head to the right in question, as if he had not understood. Only Stiger well knew Dog followed and understood every word, for he was a naverum, one of the mystical guardians of Olimbus, the home of the gods. At one time, Stiger had had his doubts about Dog, but no longer. He still did not know which god had sent him, but one surely had.

  “Right, keep your secrets,” Stiger said and reached over, giving the shaggy creature a friendly scratch on the head. Dog leaned into the scratch and closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the moment. In a manner of speaking, next to Eli, Dog was his oldest companion and friend. To say Stiger had become quite fond of the animal was an understatement.

  “That is by far the largest dog I’ve ever seen,” Treim said. “It should be sent on its way. Dogs do not belong here, not now, not during this august moment.”

  Stiger glanced over at the general, who stood off to his right. Like his own armor, the general’s had been cleaned and polished until it shone brilliantly under the rapidly fading sunlight of the day. Just behind the general stood Salt, Ikely, and Severus. Eli was off to Stiger’s left, Therik too. The orc looked bored and impatient for things to move along. Ruga and a strong cordon of guards had been arranged around Stiger and the senior officers. They looked like they meant business.

  Upon his arrival with the army and once he’d learned of the praetorians’ attempt, Salt had seen that Ruga was reinforced to an overstrength century, numbering one hundred men. Those men had been pulled from across the entirety of the Thirteenth. They were the best the legion had to offer, some of the most efficient killers that the empire had ever trained. All were long-service veterans.

  “I’d like to see you try to remove that animal,” Therik said with a nasty chuckle.

  The general glanced over at the orc, clearly uncomfortable. Though it was rare to find an orc within the empire’s borders, they were looked down upon by humans as mere beasts. Stiger had once thought that too, but no longer. That Stiger considered Therik a friend and relied upon his advice had clearly taken Treim by surprise, Aetius too.

  Orc and general had met hours before. Their initial meeting had not gone well. When Therik had heard about the praetorians’ attempt, he had become incensed and had placed the blame squarely on the general for not better seeing to Stiger’s safety.
The orc was even more irate that Stiger had not taken him along in the first place to Lorium. He had made that plain. Stiger had listened and let the orc vent his anger.

  When he traveled to the capital, Stiger had hoped to leave Therik behind with the army. He let out an unhappy breath, for he understood that would no longer be possible. He was stuck with the former king of the orcs and was certain having him in tow would bring its own complications. Then again, Therik was good in a scrap. Having him along also might prove advantageous.

  “What do you mean?” Treim asked Therik.

  “He is not some random stray looking for a meal,” Eli said to the general and then nodded toward Stiger. “Dog is his companion and has been for a very long time.”

  “Do not be fooled,” Therik added as the priests, just a few yards away, continued to pray and sing over the emperor’s body. “He is no pet, but a vicious and merciless killer.” Therik turned his gaze knowingly to Stiger. “Just like his master.”

  Eyes on the orc, Dog gave a low whine of protest, clearly objecting.

  “Do not even bother trying to deny it,” Therik said to Dog. “You know what you are.”

  Dog gave another whine, this one almost a whimper.

  “I am not his master.” Stiger heaved a heavy breath and then decided to explain a bit for Treim’s benefit. “He showed up one day at the farm and … well, just sort of never left. He’s been with me ever since. But … he is free to come and go as he pleases, and he does.”

  “The farm?” Treim asked, clearly confused. “What farm?”

  “It is a long story.” Therik’s tone became softer, guarded. “One best not brought up today.”

  Treim did not look satisfied by that.

  “I will explain more later … in private,” Stiger said. “But … in short, I traveled into the past. I spent several years there. At one point, I thought I wasn’t coming back. It’s where I picked up this big green bastard.”

  Therik gave a snort.

  Stiger gestured at Salt. “It’s also where I found the camp prefect and the majority of the Thirteenth.”