The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  The crowd seemed to swell in size the deeper they drew into the city. That only served to reinforce his decision to keep moving and maintain a quick pace.

  The stone paving under their feet was dirty and bits of trash littered the street: an apple core, a piece of smoothed wood that had snapped off something, chicken bones, a partial wheel from a cart … and numerous other items. That did not include the animal droppings all over the place. It was almost impossible to avoid stepping in nastiness.

  He did not remember the main streets of the city being so dirty, but then again, he had been a teenager when he’d left for the army. Stiger ignored it all and kept going, moving forward.

  As they left behind the city gate, Stiger noticed many of the buildings that hemmed in the street were now large, four-story tenements with shops occupying the first floor. The poor of the city had the misfortune of living within them and other similar apartment blocks scattered throughout the city. They were dens of pure misery.

  Over the years, many of the men he led had come from such humble origins. They were some of the lucky ones. Through the legion, they had escaped the crushing poverty and misery.

  In Mal’Zeel, those who were lucky enough to find available work did so. Those who could not survived however they could, but mostly relied upon the grain dole. The conditions in the worst of the slums were so bad that many turned to crime just to get by. Life for such people was short and hard. Stiger considered that, as emperor, he might be able to do something to make conditions better. At least, he could try. But that was a concern for another day.

  “Once,” Therik said, leaning close and drawing Stiger’s attention. The orc had to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.

  “What?” Stiger shouted back, cupping a hand to his ear. “What did you say?”

  “You told me about something called a triumph,” Therik hollered back at him. “Do you recall?”

  Stiger turned his gaze to the cheering crowd. This was as close to a triumph as Mal’Zeel had seen for years, perhaps even centuries, for the emperors had not wanted to share the glory with victorious generals. The best one could hope for these days was an ovation in the senate.

  It seemed like the entire city had come out to see him. He looked back at Therik and gave a nod. “I remember that conversation. We were riding up to Castle Vrell after a snowstorm.”

  “Good,” Therik said, and snapped his fingers for effect, nearly in Stiger’s face. “Good that you do remember our conversation.”

  After what had happened to Taha’Leeth, he was more than aware of being mortal. “My friend”—Stiger clapped Therik on the back—“I thank you for the reminder. Keep at it whenever you feel a reminder is required.”

  Therik gave a satisfied nod. Stiger turned his attention back to the crowd, which was continuing to cheer and scream madly. Stiger thought it all incredible, but at the same time he felt some unease. He had never seen so many people gathered so close together and all for him. It was more impressive than what he’d seen in Lorium. To them, he understood, he was more than the triumphant general returning home. He was their hope for the future, the man who would save them, deliver them from the confederacy.

  They were showering their love upon him, their hope for the future, and not Lears. That told him he had the hearts of the people, the mob. It gave him power. The senate would learn of this and know fear. That would make the senators unpredictable and more dangerous than usual. He would have to be on his guard.

  And yet, more concerning to him was the understanding that the mob’s love was a fickle thing and could change in a heartbeat. One day they might cheer him wildly and the next curse him.

  “Sir.” Ruga had come up from behind. He pointed. “There’s a fork ahead in the street. Which way do we go?”

  “We’re gonna turn right,” Stiger said after studying the way ahead of them. He recognized the Massi Fountain at the end of the street. The fountain featured an incredible marble carving of several horses running through a field. Fresh water sprouted up into the air from behind the horses and down into a basin for people to collect.

  “What then, sir?”

  Stiger gestured with his hands. “Then, we will follow that street about a half mile before turning to the right once again. At that point we will begin climbing a hill, the Teritine, and make a series of turns along smaller streets before arriving at my family’s house. The house occupies an entire block. You will need to post your men around it, not only to keep people back, but to look for assassins.”

  “I understand, sir,” Ruga said.

  “I will tell you when we need to make turns, okay?”

  “Very good, sir,” Ruga said and jogged ahead to his men leading the procession. And it had become a procession.

  The centurion personally guided them onto the correct street. It was only at that moment that Stiger realized Dog had vanished. He looked around, and the big animal was nowhere to be seen. Stiger could not remember seeing him as they marched up to the gate. He felt a momentary pang of loss. But he knew Dog would return when he was ready. He had long since stopped wondering on where the animal went when he took off and was not overly concerned by his absence.

  As they continued deeper into the city, the crowds swelled in size. People screamed madly at him, almost in a crazed fashion. Mothers held children out toward him, seeking a blessing. Grown men and women cried unabashedly and openly wept. It was overwhelming. Stiger had never much enjoyed this kind of thing, never craved or desired such adulation. And yet, time and again it was heaped upon his shoulders.

  With his men, he had seen the necessity of putting up with a similar outpouring of emotion. They would fight better for it and be motivated by his example, their morale lifted. Now, he supposed it would become a regular thing, and that made him terribly uncomfortable. Though he had been greatly blessed by his god, he saw himself as but a man. But then again, Stiger would not refuse to use the madness of the people to his advantage to see his goals fulfilled. He often wondered if that, in the end, made him a bad person.

  That the senate had acted to place another in the curule chair angered Stiger immensely. They had chosen a direct enemy of his family to occupy the throne and lead the empire. That surely had been done on purpose. The thought of it infuriated him.

  Worse, they had chosen someone wholly unsuited for the position, someone who would bring the empire to ruin and death to tens of thousands. And what was his father doing while this had happened? Had he sworn loyalty to Lears? Stiger could not imagine such a thing happening. And yet, it might have … What complications would that bring?

  Regardless of his father, to Stiger now fell the unenviable task of removing Lears. And that would not be easy. No, it never got any easier. It just didn’t. Whenever he gained the crest of a hill, saw some success, a steeper, more challenging one waited behind it and another just beyond that one out of view. It seemed Fortuna loved placing obstacles in his path and screwing with him.

  “Perhaps you should consider waving,” Eli said, leaning in close. “Get them even more excited … put on a show. You look far grimmer than the dead on a battlefield the day after.”

  Stiger looked over at his friend and realized Eli was right. These were his people. An enemy more deadly than any the empire had ever faced was marching its way north and the people knew it. That was why they greeted him so warmly. They desperately wanted him to save them.

  The mood in the city must have been grim, desperate even. The mob’s turnout only proved that true. And all after another had just been made emperor. That was usually a cause for celebration.

  The Stiger family name had recently been in disgrace, but at the same time, it ran deep in imperial minds. For hundreds of years, Stigers had been some of the foremost generals of the empire. If anyone was to save them from such a threat, a Stiger would do it, and the people clearly recognized that.

  After he had been appointed to command the imperial army, had they cheered his father just as enthusiasti
cally? He suspected they had done just that. How had Lears felt? Was he jealous? Had the new emperor replaced his father? Arrested him? Executed him? There was so much he did not know.

  “Well?” Eli asked. “A wave might be a nice gesture. They did come out in the cold to see you.”

  Shooting Eli a look, he gave in and raised a hand, waving to the crowd. They fairly erupted, cheering much louder, and began to press in toward the procession. Ruga snapped an order to his men and the century closed up. The centurion sent more men moving forward and to the sides around Stiger for protection. Using their shields, they held those who got too eager back.

  The going after that was slower, for the front of the procession had to nearly force their way forward through the gathering throng. It seemed with every passing heartbeat more people came out. Word had raced ahead.

  “Bless my baby.” A woman held out a blanket-wrapped bundle over the shields of the men. “Please, Imperator, bless my baby.”

  Stiger was reminded of the healing Father Thomas had performed on the infant back in Vrell. At a cost of some of his own life force, he had healed the child of a mortal illness. The vision struck him powerfully, as did the emotion of the moment. The paladin had sacrificed his life to save Stiger’s. That was yet another debt he would be unable to repay.

  He stumbled a step, recovered, and took a step nearer to see better. The child was no more than a newborn. A few strands of hair covered its head, and despite the noise of the crowd, it was asleep. Not knowing what else to do, he reached out a gloved hand and placed it atop the infant’s head.

  Unexpectedly, the power within him, his connection to the High Father, flared. Suddenly he felt warm all over. It was as if the chill of the winter day had been shoved away. He pulled his hand back, astonished, looking at it.

  Something had happened.

  What, he did not know, but it was clear the High Father had acted through him. He met the eyes of the mother, a young woman, a mere slip of a girl with long brown hair and rotten teeth. There were tears in her eyes. She had clearly felt the High Father’s power too.

  “Thank you, Imperator,” she cried, “thank you, bless you.”

  The crowd pushed in, many holding out hands for him to grasp, and with that, she was swallowed up, pushed back, out of view.

  “Best keep moving.” Eli took his elbow and guided him onward. Still somewhat shaken, Stiger glanced back at where Father Restus was. The paladin had a sickly cast to him and seemed barely able to walk. He was being assisted by one of the legionaries. But his eyes were upon Stiger. There was a fierce light within them. He too had felt the High Father at work. The paladin gave him a pleased, though exhausted, nod.

  A loose paving stone almost caused Stiger to trip. He was forced to watch where he was going. After several steps, he continued to wave. The path ahead would not be this easy. Lears would not make it so. Thoughts of the bastard who had scourged his back darkened his thoughts. The man would fight before he gave up the curule chair, and he likely had a small army within the city. Stiger had only Ruga’s men and those that Treim, Aetius, and Navaro had prepositioned.

  He would not be able to rely upon the mob to save him. This time, he would have to do it on his own. That meant he needed to strike before Lears got his act together. Striking quickly was the path to victory. Any delay meant defeat.

  Each step brought the procession closer to Stiger’s home, until finally, they began to climb Teritine Hill. As they did, the streets became narrower, cleaner, the crowds thinner, the way steeper. The buildings were finer, well maintained. There were no tenements in sight, no public housing projects. The street was also better paved and clean.

  The people who now emerged from their businesses and homes had means and their cheering was not as enthusiastic as those who had preceded them. They were better educated and likely knew what was coming, a fight that might tear the city apart. The ensuing chaos could ruin their livelihoods. It might even cost them their lives. This was yet another reason to act quickly, before the battle lines could be fully drawn and Lears could secure more support. The man had not even been emperor for a day.

  Stiger could read the worry in their eyes, the fear. And yet, still they seemed excited to see him. They cried out for him. Behind the procession, the street was packed with people from the lower reaches of the city, who were following after the common folk. How many followed, Stiger did not know, but it was a considerable number, thousands at least.

  As they were about to turn onto the street that led directly to his home, something caught Stiger’s nose, a familiar scent, and it triggered a strong memory. He looked around and almost smiled as he came to an abrupt halt, catching the nearest legionaries of his guard by surprise, Therik too.

  He looked over at the orc and almost grinned. Despite all the worries and concerns about what lay ahead, it felt good to be home. And this street, the entire city, was home. After all these years and the painful memories of what he had left behind, it truly felt good to return.

  “Are you still hungry?” Stiger asked Therik.

  “What?” Therik looked at him strangely.

  “I asked if you were still hungry.”

  The entire procession had now stopped. Ruga was looking back at him with concern. It was clear the centurion was wondering what was going on. After a moment, he began making his way back to Stiger.

  “He’s always hungry,” Eli said.

  Stiger turned and moved to the backs of the men who were keeping the crowd back with their shields.

  “Step aside,” Stiger ordered, and as they did, he stepped through his protective bubble. The crowd to his front parted, revealing a bakery and a rotund baker getting on in the years who had come out from behind the counter to watch. The baker wore a soiled smock.

  The bakery was a large building, two stories in height, and was just as Stiger remembered. It serviced most of the homes of the hill—at least, it had when he’d lived here.

  A marble counter separated the shop side from the bakery itself. Beyond the counter, Stiger could see dozens of men, most likely slaves. They had been working at making dough, checking ovens with long wooden spatulas, or stacking dozens of freshly baked loaves of bread upon wooden shelves set along the walls. They too had stopped to watch the procession move by.

  The baker himself looked suddenly nervous as Stiger stepped up to him. The man offered a hasty yet respectful bow.

  “How might I help you, sir?” the baker asked. Stiger saw a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes.

  “Thetas,” Stiger greeted, “it is good to see you again, truly good. Do you remember me?”

  “It has been many years, but I do,” Thetas said. “You are not the young Stiger I recall. Many years have passed since those days.”

  “Too many years, I think,” Stiger said. Thetas had gone bald since he had last seen him. There were only a few isolated strands of gray hair left by his ears. He had also grown in girth and his face was lined with age.

  “Too true,” Thetas said, beginning to relax slightly.

  “That is, Imperator,” Ruga said from behind. The centurion had caught up with Stiger. He had brought several of his men. They began pushing the crowd back a few feet, giving them space. “Best show proper respect, baker.”

  Stiger held up a hand to Ruga. “There is no need for that.”

  “He needs to show more respect, sir,” Ruga insisted, seeming to not want to yield an inch of ground. “You are the emperor after all, the true emperor.”

  “My apologies, Imperator,” Thetas said, looking more nervous. Despite the cold, sweat began to bead his upper lip and forehead. He clasped his hands together before him and began wringing them. “I did not mean to cause offense. It’s just the senate crowned another emperor last evening.”

  “Thetas is an old family friend,” Stiger explained to Ruga, hardening his tone slightly. “His family are clients of ours and he should be treated with respect.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruga said, and relax
ed a tad. “Understood, sir.”

  With that, the centurion turned his gaze to the crowd about them, clearly looking for threats.

  “I assure you, there was no offense taken,” Stiger said to Thetas. “As to the other emperor, I will sort that matter out soon enough.” Stiger paused, running his gaze over the shelves and racks of the bakery, stacked with hundreds of loaves of fresh bread. The smell alone was almost divine. “Do you still supply my family with fresh, baked bread?”

  “I do, Imperator,” Thetas said. “Long has it by my honor and pleasure to do so.”

  “Great.” Stiger clapped his hands together. “Then I want you to send enough fresh, baked bread for my men … enough for a hundred and then some.” Stiger jabbed a thumb at Therik. “The orc here is hungry too.”

  Thetas looked over at Therik, who stood several steps back, next to Eli. The baker paled as he realized Therik was not human. The hand-wringing began again.

  “This had better be good bread,” Therik rumbled darkly. “You know I want meat.”

  “It is the best,” Stiger said and fished out a gold imperial talon. He tossed it to the baker, who caught it. “I think this should cover it.”

  “It does, Imperator,” Thetas said. The coin rapidly disappeared into a pocket behind the smock he wore. “Thank you. I shall have your order delivered to your house within the hour.”

  “Very good,” Stiger said. “I’ve been dreaming about your bread for years. I can’t tell you how much of a treat this will be.”

  “I will not disappoint,” Thetas said loudly, the nervousness having retreated, so that the nearest people in the crowd could follow. The crowd, which had pushed closer to hear what was transpiring, gave another cheer.