The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Lots of snow,” Eli said, gazing down at the ground, this time speaking to Stiger. “It seems like we just left the mountains in Vrell. Know what I mean?”

  “Not too cold though,” Stiger said. “It’s got to be just above freezing. The sun coming up should warm things nicely. It would not surprise me if much of this snow melts before day’s end. It is, after all, only the beginning of winter. Besides, we’ve both seen deeper snow. It’s really not as bad as it could be.”

  “True,” Eli said, though he did not sound sold. “I’ve been thinking, if the confederacy continues north past the snow line, it will mean a winter campaign. We both know how difficult those can be.”

  Stiger had not considered that. It was an interesting line of thought. “Do you think the confederacy is prepared? They come from a warm land that I understand does not see snow. It’s hard to imagine they are ready for such cold, let alone conducting large-scale operations under adverse conditions.”

  “They are a slave culture,” Eli said, “more so than the empire. We know their religion to Valoor is bound up in it. Serve well and there is rebirth to a better class. Serve poorly and you suffer by being reborn to worse circumstances. I suppose, with such values, their respect for life is not equal to our own.”

  “As in they don’t care as much about their own soldiers?” Stiger asked, considering his friend’s words. “You are saying you expect they will push north into the snow, regardless of whether or not they are prepared to do so.”

  “I am,” Eli said. “What might not be possible for another culture may be for them. If you recall during the battle … before the real fighting began, their general threw a few thousand of their men against our entire line.”

  “I do.” Stiger did remember. “They were unsupported.”

  At the time, it had made no sense to him. He had assumed there had been some reason for it, only he had never found one. His enemy had been simply throwing the lives of their men away.

  “Good gods.” Stiger rubbed his chin as the full implications of what Eli was suggesting hit him.

  “Exactly,” Eli said.

  Stiger felt chilled. “Unprepared or not, the confederacy is coming.”

  “Despite their success in the south,” Eli added, “I do not believe they will find a place to winter and wait for the snows to melt.”

  Stiger closed his eyes, thinking furiously. If the enemy pushed hard enough … drove their men forward along the poor coastal roads … “That means they could be here in a matter of weeks.” Stiger opened his eyes. “A winter campaign is assured.”

  “You thought it might be a race to the capital,” Eli said. “It looks like it will be.”

  “Our army might just arrive days before the enemy,” Stiger breathed.

  It seems you are running out of time, human, Inex said.

  Stiger could not disagree.

  If the enemy is pushing hard, Tyven said, one of us will return to alert you.

  “I would appreciate that,” Stiger said.

  “Are you gonna climb down?” Therik asked from below, forestalling further conversation.

  Stiger stepped up to the edge of the dragon’s back and looked down. Therik was wearing the legionary armor that had been made for him. The orc had trekked his way across the field between the two dragons. His tracks made a straight line back to the other dragon. “I would think, as you say, you would want to get this show on the road. Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps you just want to talk the day away with the elf.”

  “He’s a little eager,” Eli said to Stiger as he stepped up to the edge, “eager like a beaver.”

  Stiger felt a slight lightening of his mood.

  “Eager? No. I am cold, tired, and hungry.” Therik pointed toward the city with a thick green finger. “I am certain we can find food, real meat, and the comfort of a fire in there, drink too.”

  “No doubt,” Stiger said, looking in the direction Therik had pointed. His thoughts strayed back to the enemy and what Eli had said. Though he felt Eli was correct in his estimation of the enemy’s intentions, in a way, it was another what-if scenario. By worrying about what the enemy was up to, Stiger was getting ahead of himself. The more immediate issue lay a half mile away. He would deal with the enemy when they became a real problem again. Right now, he had to focus on the immediate future, the curule chair, the senate, his father, the empire, and the people. He turned his gaze back to Therik and felt a hunger pang. “I could go for something other than salt pork. A beef stew perhaps, with plenty of fresh bread for sopping.”

  “There are also people that need killing,” Therik said. “At least there should be. We all know you bring out the best in people.”

  “Why does everyone think that?” Stiger asked, thoroughly amused.

  “Because it’s true,” Therik said. “Do not bother denying it.”

  “You do, you know,” Eli said. “There is just something about your personality. Like a moth to an open flame, you attract trouble. Perhaps that is what initially drew us together. Think of me as the moth.”

  “And I am the flame?” Stiger chuckled. He now knew why Eli had attached himself to Seventh Company all those years ago, the real reason. Shaking his head, he began climbing down before dropping the last two feet into the snow. His boots sank right down into the fresh powder. He almost fell, as his left boot went deeper than the other, sinking into the gap between furrows.

  Therik gave an amused grunt.

  Eli followed him down without issue, making it look easy.

  “Sir.” Ruga approached and saluted. The centurion was red-faced from the cold.

  Stiger returned the salute and glanced around once again. A group of twenty of Ruga’s men was spreading out around them protectively. A couple had gone off to scout the farmhouse and barn. The rest were still on the dragons’ backs, untying shields and packs. Using ropes, they were lowering them to the ground.

  “What are your orders, sir?” Ruga asked.

  “Let’s get the dragons fully unloaded,” Stiger said, “then, when you are ready, form the men up on the road. We will march to the city gate and demand entry.”

  “What then, sir?” Ruga asked. “Once we gain access to the city, what are your intentions?”

  Therik growled. Ruga’s eyes flicked to the orc in question.

  “He’s getting impatient,” Eli explained before Stiger could speak.

  “The big bastard’s likely hungry, is all,” Ruga said. “It was a long flight and the food has not been the best of late, mostly salted meat.”

  “Centurion, you hit the nail right on the head,” Eli laughed, while Therik threw a hard look to Ruga. The centurion only gave a knowing grunt in reply.

  “Once inside the city, we will go to my family’s house,” Stiger said. “From there, it will depend upon what Senator Navaro has to say and of course the senate. I expect both will wish to see me. With any luck, things will go easily.”

  “And when has it ever gone easily?” Eli asked. “It always seems like we do things the hard way, just like at Fort Covenant, or Thresh, or dozens of other places we’ve been.”

  “Best get to it, Centurion,” Stiger said, ignoring the elf. “We don’t want to give those at the city gate too much time to think things through.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruga said. With a parting salute, the centurion moved away to hurry his men along, shouting at them as he went.

  Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Stiger looked around again. A thin trail of smoke was emerging from the chimney of the farmhouse along the road. He gestured at it with a hand. “Let’s go warm up while we wait. Shall we?”

  Not waiting for an answer, Stiger started off. His feet crunched with each step as he began to make his way across the field toward the farmhouse. Dog, Eli, and Therik followed. The escort moved with them. A gust of wind blew across the field and kicked up a light spray of snow, which swirled about them before passing.

  From the knees down, Stiger’s legs were thoroughly wet by the time th
ey reached the road. His feet were beginning to feel damp too. It was past time to replace his boots. He would have to make a point to get that done, and soon. They had been worn thin, almost to the point of completely wearing out. There were even a couple of small holes in the soles.

  Stiger reached the road and discovered it had been rolled, which had packed the snow down, compacting it. The empire preferred rolling so that a road could be negotiated with little effort. In the city, the streets would have been shoveled clean and the snow tossed into the river. Out here, in the countryside, they just rolled it. There wasn’t enough labor available to bother shoveling it all.

  Wagon tracks and prints from steady traffic moving toward the city had already marked the road heavily. Manure from draft animals had also soiled the pristine white of the snow along the roadway.

  There was no longer anyone in view, other than those in the city, a half mile distant. He could see hundreds standing on the walls, no doubt staring at the dragons. On a positive note, the city gate itself was still open. No one had yet to think to shut it. He suspected it would not remain that way for long.

  Careful of where he stepped, Stiger crossed the road to the farmhouse. The door had been left partially open, likely from Ruga’s men, who had scouted the farm. Stiger glanced in. There was no one present. Whoever had been here had fled when the dragons arrived.

  The interior was dark, as the shutters were closed against the cold. The walls had been plastered over, though the plaster was cracked and crumbling. A low fire crackled in the hearth, providing the only light inside. Not even a candle or oil lamp had been lit.

  Stiger made his way inside; the others filed in after. The house was humble and smelled of unwashed bodies. The floor was planked wood and had been recently swept clean.

  There were very few possessions about, other than a table set aside for food prep, a large cot for two, and some pots, of which one had been suspended over the fire. It was slow-boiling water. Two medium trunks lay next to the far wall. Sacks were set against the same wall, as well as three knee-high casks. One had been labeled “flour.” A soiled towel lay atop it.

  Numerous onions and herbs had been suspended from the low ceiling. A loaf of half-eaten bread lay on the table. It looked somewhat hard, perhaps even stale. All in all, though hers had been superior to this, the farmhouse reminded Stiger strongly of Sarai’s place. It evoked memories of warmth and a simpler time, one without too many worries—or so he’d thought.

  Moving over to the fire, he forced such unwelcome and painful thoughts aside. Holding out his hands, Stiger removed his gloves and rubbed them together for added warmth. As feeling returned, his fingers began to ache painfully. Eli and Therik did the same.

  Dog had not joined them. Stiger hoped the animal wasn’t troubling the sheep. The people who lived in this house had little to begin with. Taking a sheep would hurt them financially and, from the looks of things, they could not afford that.

  Through the open door, he could hear the guards take up position outside. They were speaking in low, hushed tones amongst themselves.

  “Are you ready for this?” Therik asked suddenly. “Are you prepared for what lies ahead? For what happens when you step through that city gate?”

  “We have come this far,” Stiger said, suddenly amused. “We might as well see it through, find out what happens. Take things as they come, eh?”

  Therik did not seem pleased by the answer, for his eyes narrowed. He picked at the tip of one of his sharpened tusks with a nail as he regarded Stiger.

  “I am thinking most people are the same,” Therik said, after a moment, “especially with those who crave power and what comes with it, whether they be orc or human. This is a time for you being utterly ruthless, offering no quarter. If you show even the slightest weakness, hesitate when you should not … your enemies will make your weakness their strength.” Therik paused. “I know you know this … but it is best to be occasionally reminded, for once we go inside your city … once we step through that gate”—Therik jerked a thumb at the door—“things will get difficult. I am thinking this senate of yours will not want to give you the empire. You will need to prove your worth and take it by force if needed.”

  “The ride gave you some time to think, didn’t it?” Eli asked with a grin thrown to the orc.

  Therik growled at the elf. “I make no joke. I am deadly serious.”

  “I thought you were hungry,” Stiger said, deciding to tease the orc a little, though he fully agreed with what Therik had said.

  “That too,” Therik admitted, growing grave. “But this is no joking matter. You must take this serious.”

  Stiger eyed the orc a long moment, then gave a slow nod as he pulled his gloves back on. “Therik, I’ve already come to that conclusion. There is a good chance we’re going to end up doing this the hard way, and that will mean spilling blood.”

  The orc gave a pleased nod at the admission.

  “I intend to be merciless and relentless in pursuing my objectives,” Stiger said and felt his anger stir slightly. “I will let nothing stand in my way, for the High Father has given me a mandate and a job to do. I … we have come too far, done too much to stop now. I am committed and will not rest until I have accomplished all that I have set out to do. That is the vow I have made.”

  Stiger’s hand came to rest on the sword hilt. He felt the tingle of the sword’s bond rush up into him, before rapidly fading.

  He took a deep breath, then let it out. “Any who stand in my way will regret doing so.”

  “Good.” Therik’s gaze was intense as he stared at Stiger. “Killing the opposition, allowing none to bar your way … that is how I ultimately became king of my people, and how you will become emperor.” Therik thumped his chest armor with a fist. “It will be my honor to be there every step of the journey to help you make that happen. I swear it so.”

  Stiger felt an immense rush of affection for the orc, his friend. He glanced to Eli. This would likely be the last time for a long while the three of them would be alone. Something needed saying and it was a long time coming.

  “I want to thank you both for sticking with me and coming here,” Stiger said. “I cannot fully express my gratitude for your friendship and likely will never be able to sufficiently thank you. I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather have by my side, especially when things get ugly … Thank you.”

  Eli gave a slight hesitation and shared a look with Therik. “You know me, Ben. I would walk down the Seven Levels with you. And if you went without me, I would have followed after.”

  “Bah.” Therik waved a meaty hand. “There is no need to thank. I told you, I will allow none other to kill you but me, which is why you will not leave me behind again.”

  Stiger grinned at that. It felt good to have such dedicated and steadfast friends with him. He was heartened by it. He only wished Taha’Leeth were here too. Then again, she likely was safer recovering with the legion and Venthus watching over her. The capital could be a very dangerous place.

  “When this is all over,” Therik said, “I may go find the orcs of this world and give them a true king.”

  “I wonder who that will be,” Eli said.

  Stiger had no doubts.

  Therik grunted, turned away, and reached for the bread.

  “Take nothing from whoever lives here,” Stiger said to the orc. “They have little enough as it is. I would not beggar them further.”

  Therik looked unhappy at that but withdrew his hand. As he did, Stiger took out a silver talon. With a flick of his thumb, he flipped it up into the air and caught it. The silver flashed with reflected firelight. Such a sum was a fortune for whoever lived in this house. He tossed it onto the table, next to the bread, where it made a clunking noise before falling still.

  “For allowing us to use your home and warm up, friend,” Stiger said quietly to the absent tenant.

  “Sir,” Ruga said from the door, “my men are formed up and ready.”

  “Shal
l we do this?” Eli asked and clapped a hand upon Stiger’s shoulder.

  “As I’ve said, we’ve come this far”—Stiger threw a grin to Therik—“might as well see it all through, eh?”

  Therik let loose a deep growling laugh. “We might as well, my friend.”

  Stiger moved for the door and stopped, a hand on the frame. He looked back at his two friends for a heartbeat. He gave a nod before turning away and stepping outside. It was time to do what he had come to do and get this show on the road.

  Chapter Seven

  “Well,” Stiger said, blowing out a long breath that steamed in the cold air. The last vestiges of snow and ice lay scattered across the paved roadway around them. It had been shoveled into large piles to either side of the city gate. Sand had been thrown down to keep people from slipping. “This is certainly a switch.”

  “In that the gate is still open?” Eli, who was standing to Stiger’s right, asked. “Or that they’ve not immediately tried to kill us?”

  “How many times over the years,” Stiger said, “have we had to either talk our way in or …?” He turned his gaze back to the gate, which was old and, unlike the other three city gates, plain and without ostentation. It was called the Mourning Gate. Along the road behind them were the tombs and gravesites of the expired.

  “Force our way in?” Eli finished as Stiger trailed off.

  The gate had two heavily reinforced doors that fit into its arched shape. Facing outward to the sides, both doors stood open. They had been constructed in layers of thick oaken planks that had been fitted together. The thickness of each door was about two feet. An enemy army attempting to force their way in would have a difficult time, especially with a determined and well-trained enemy defending the walls above.

  “Might I remind you both, they’ve still not granted us entry,” Tiro said from behind them.

  Stiger glanced back at Tiro, who wore only his service tunic and not his legionary armor.

  “You’re just super helpful, aren’t you?” Stiger said. “A real ray of sunshine.”