The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Fair?” Stiger turned on his brother. “Are you kidding me? He chose the wrong side. It ruined our family, saw our mother and sister brutally cut down. I was there. I saw it happen. He betrayed the empire and led a civil war. Do you know what it was like for me all those years? Do you know what it’s like to serve with peers who would rather you were dead? Imagine having to rely on fellow officers who feel you are not fit to serve the empire. And more than a few tried to end me.”

  “I do know what you endured,” Marcus said, with sudden feeling. “Treim wrote me regularly. Your brother has also suffered. You are not the only one who suffers. So too do I.”

  “Please,” Stiger said, “spare me.”

  “My decisions and actions haunt my nights,” Marcus said. “They plague my dreams. They keep me up, sometimes until dawn. My sleep is fitful at best. You have suffered; so too has Max. I suffer as well.”

  Stiger suddenly thought his father looked incredibly frail, nothing like the pillar of granite he’d known growing up. But at the same time, Stiger’s heart hardened. His father spoke of suffering. He might have received letters, but what did he really know of the true suffering his youngest son had endured? If he wasn’t wearing armor, Stiger would have been tempted to show him his scarred back.

  “I doubt that,” Stiger said with bitterness, “very much.”

  “You blame me for all the wrongs in the world?” Marcus asked, his voice taking a hard tone. “Look at yourself, son. You should thank me for all that I have done, for all that I have sacrificed.”

  “I should thank you?” There had been a time when he had feared this man. Now, no more. Stiger could stand up for himself. “Thank you? That is bold, old man. I’ve cursed you more than once over the years. Thank you? That is rich, really rich.”

  “You think so?” Marcus suddenly laughed. It was a harsh sound and echoed around the hall. He gestured about them. “Look around, my son. Do you see wealth here? This monument to our great family that we call a home is crumbling. Most people in the city still think we have money tucked away, but it’s all gone … all because of you.”

  “Me?” Stiger asked. “How can you blame me for your mistakes, your poor choices in life?”

  “My mistakes?” Marcus said. “You mean my greatest triumph, don’t you?”

  Stiger felt himself scowl, wondering where his father was going.

  Marcus moved a half step closer. He gestured with his cup. “Even though it broke my heart, I started you down the road you follow, gave you the push you needed, the impetus.” He tapped himself on the chest. “Me. I did it. I had you trained as a soldier. I paid for the best tutors, the finest weapons masters and instructors money could buy. Year after year, what was left of our family fortune was sunk into your education. Our coffers were all but empty by the time you left for Third Legion. All that remained of our income was the rent we received from the few land holdings Tioclesion left us, and that wasn’t much … certainly not enough to maintain such a house as ours.”

  Stiger did not reply. He looked to his brother, who gave a nod that what his father said was true.

  “Day after day,” Marcus continued, “you were worked from sunup until sundown and then frequently beyond. It cost me our fortune and, let me tell you, I was pleased to spend it. You thought your brother, Maxentius, the blessed one? As firstborn, you believed him the favored son. With my disgrace, Max was destined for the senate and inheritance of little more than nothing. You thought him more loved, coddled even. But it was you who got everything. He got virtually nothing. You thought me a miser for only buying you a lieutenancy, resented me for it. That was all we could afford. Your allowance, a paltry sum, we could ill afford as well, but it was more than Max got. No, my son. It was you who got the best of everything from me. You were the favored one.”

  Stiger was silent as he considered his father. His eyes went to his brother, who was looking down at the ground, almost embarrassed.

  “Do you realize you left this home better prepared to lead men in battle than anyone ever has been?” Marcus gestured with his cup again. “You were trained, hardened, and then sent on your way to complete your education through service to the empire. I gave you the best education in warfare money could buy. I supervised it, designed the instruction. How ungrateful are you? How selfish? How stupid? I spent everything we had left on you and you didn’t even realize it.”

  Stiger thought back to all the long days and nights, the resentment he’d felt at being forced to relentlessly train and study until he was ready to drop. He had never thought to wonder on the family’s money.

  “Why would you do that?” Stiger asked, confused. “Why waste it all on me? What for? What purpose? Why not come out and tell me?”

  “Was it wasted?” Marcus asked. He drained his cup, moved over to the table, and poured himself a refill. “I think not. You left this home trained, yes, a man … no. You were a sniveling boy who blamed me for every possible wrong. Yet your anger for me drove you on. Even if I’d told you the truth, you would not have believed me. Now … look at you. You are a man seasoned by combat, forged in the fires of war. You have led men in battle and against the odds, repeatedly won when you should have lost. You have faced certain death more than once, and cheated Fortuna as you did it. You have seen the horrors the world has to offer, just as I have, and been made stronger by it.” Marcus paused, taking a deep breath. “And now, you are the conquering hero, returned home.” He took another sip of wine. “I heard the people down in the city cheering and saw the dragons fly overhead. I knew without a doubt you had come. You, my son, are the future of this house. You always were. Blame me? Sure, go ahead. I would change nothing of what I have done … even”—Marcus took a long pull at his drink and his tone softened, almost cracked—“even if I could get your mother and sister back. Long ago I made my choice, and by now, I am certain, you have made yours.”

  Stiger rubbed his jaw for a long moment as he considered his father. He stepped over to the table with the pitcher. He filled a cup of wine for himself and took a sip as he thought through what his father had just said, the actions he’d taken. The wine was poor quality, terrible really, and more than a little sour.

  “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” Marcus demanded.

  Stiger turned back and regarded his father for several moments. A piece of the puzzle came together. He gestured with the mug at his father. “You knew. You bastard. You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  Marcus stilled. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he gave a small nod.

  “I did.”

  Though he had guessed, Stiger was rocked by the admission and actually took a step back.

  “How?” Stiger asked. “How did you know the path I now walk?”

  “When the emperor died, and I mean Tioclesion’s father,” Marcus said, “I was in command of six legions guarding the western frontier. All were positioned less than four hundred miles from the capital. Mine was the closest military command.” Marcus fell silent for several heartbeats as he seemingly gathered his thoughts. “The civil war began when Tioclesion decided to seize the throne. He attempted to murder his older brother, Terhaulus … well, to have his brother murdered at any rate. Tioclesion never liked to do the dirty work himself. You well know the two had long since despised one another. Their feud was destined to end in blood.”

  Stiger gave a nod of agreement. The two brothers had had a long-standing rivalry. As Tioclesion’s friend, Stiger had disliked Terhaulus immensely. Terhaulus had also been a bully who had always been too full of himself.

  “Anyway,” Marcus continued, “the assassination was bungled and failed. With it, nearly half of the praetorians revolted, rallying around the emperor’s older brother, who was popular amongst the ranks. The other half-backed Tioclesion because he bought them. Having lots of silver can be a handy thing, especially when you seize the treasury and spend it as if it’s your own. Blood flowed liberally through the streets after that.”

 
“It was an awful time,” Max said in a distant tone, “terrible”

  “It was,” Marcus agreed. “Mal’Zeel became a battleground. The mob got involved, taking sides as well … rioting, killing indiscriminately. There was much death and destruction.” Marcus fell silent again as he took a sip from his wine. “Both sides called upon me and the other generals to back them. They wanted me to bring my legions into the city to settle things, to put an end to the madness. By that point, it was not so easy a thing to do. There was fighting across the empire, with several cities declaring support for one side or another—even independence. Appeals for help were pouring into my headquarters from all quarters. Worse, a schism had formed, not just in the officer corps, but also in the ranks as well. Brother turned upon brother. As Max said, it was an awful time.”

  Stiger had been dealing with the fallout of his father’s actions for years, but he had never known the why of it. He’d had his suspicions, of course, and had heard rumors, but he’d never heard the story from the source. It had never been spoken of and was a subject that had been expressly off limits.

  “Intent on helping to restore order, and stop the bloodshed, I returned to the city with a strong escort. My legions were already on the move, marching to the city, but were days away. Unbeknownst to me at the time, so too were other generals. They had stolen the march on me and would arrive before the main body of my army.” Marcus took a breath and let it out. “After arriving in the city and speaking with your mother, she and I decided upon throwing my support behind Tioclesion. At the time, he seemed the better of the two choices, for Terhaulus had begun to show a cruel streak. With that decided, I went to the first emperor’s temple, to the gardens, to pray for guidance before heading to the palace.” Marcus looked toward the door, his eyes suddenly distant. “You should really visit the place and pay your respects. All emperors should. It might remind them of their responsibility to the empire and a need to be just. Imagine that, a just emperor.”

  “I’ve never seen the temple,” Max said quietly, sounding almost troubled as he gazed at his father. “He says it’s hidden in the temple district.”

  “What happened while you were there?” Stiger asked, wanting to hear the rest of the story and not be diverted. He had never heard of the first emperor’s temple either. “What made you change your mind and go against Tioclesion?”

  “I was given a vision.”

  “A vision?” Stiger asked, suspecting the High Father’s involvement.

  Mine, the sword hissed in his mind. He saw what he needed to see. I showed him the possibilities and direct consequences of his actions.

  Stiger went cold. For a moment, he had forgotten about Rarokan. The mad wizard had opened the prison door and had been following along, intently so.

  You? Stiger could scarcely believe it.

  Yes …

  “A vision?” Stiger asked his father. He felt a headache coming on. “You were shown a vision?”

  “Two actually.” Marcus took another sip of wine. His look became haunted. “I was shown two possible futures. It was almost like I was at a fork in the road, a crossroads of my life. And I was left to make a choice between the two. One led to a future of indescribable greatness … the other … success, a happy and fulfilled life, but ultimately terrible destruction … the end of the empire … the world. My choice was obvious, and yet the personal price would be terrible. I was shown that as well, the true horror of what I must do. So—I chose and backed Terhaulus for the good of the empire, even though I and those I loved would suffer. It was the only real choice to make.”

  Stiger felt rocked to his core by not only what his father had said, but also Rarokan’s admission. The implications of Rarokan’s meddling were staggering. He turned his attention inward and to the mad wizard.

  You?

  Me, Rarokan said simply. I did it.

  How? he demanded of the sword. Why?

  Before I was locked within this prison … I was the master of time and space. It was I who set everything in motion. I alone have changed the course of the Last War. I made it possible for Romans and many others to leave their cradle world, to come to this one. I broke the ultimate rule, law, call it what you will, of interfering with a cradle world. I took action before it became too late … before another thought to make such a move, take such a gamble. Yes, I made the ultimate sacrifice for the future and I made it willingly. I forced the gods into engagement. I made them stir from their own self-imposed stagnation on Olimbus. I spurred them to action.

  There was an exultant tone to the wizard’s words.

  Now, the worlds of strength and power are untouchable, inviolate. No more can be taken, moved, and transported away. No more can one who is not of a cradle world travel to such a place, not even a High Master. I alone made this possible. And it will change everything.

  You think you control me with the tricks the noctalum taught you? I foresaw that too. Before this comes to an end, I promise—you will join with me in my great work. You will help me achieve all that I desire. And you will do it freely.

  Stiger felt sick to his stomach. His anger sparked at all the mad wizard had done. Was it not enough that he had to fight the High Father’s enemies?

  I should have dropped you in a remote lake and left you for all eternity to the silt and mud.

  You do not have the strength of will to do that. The bond has been forged and cannot be broken.

  We can find out, Stiger said. This city has plenty of sewers. I am tempted to go find one right now.

  Time to accept your fate, for we are one, as was always meant to be. You will not discard me, for you cannot. The High Father will not allow it.

  The sword laughed maniacally in his mind. Stiger knew Rarokan’s words to be true. He forced the mad wizard back into his box and closed the lid, sealing him in. It took more effort than he expected and almost left him panting. Even so, he could still hear the sword in his head, laughing madly away.

  “Do you have nothing to say?” Marcus demanded.

  Stiger looked up at his father and saw a sadness in the man’s eyes he’d never seen before, or maybe never noticed. He suspected it had been there all along. He’d just been too blind to see. Marcus Stiger grieved for what he had done to his youngest son and his family. Marcus had suffered, and terribly too. Stiger saw that now, knew that very look, had keenly felt such loss himself. How could he have missed it?

  And yet, Stiger was not ready to forgive him. Not yet.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Ruga said from the entrance. There was an urgent note to his voice. “I am sorry to bother you.”

  Stiger looked around, wondering what had gone wrong.

  “Do you mind if we bring Father Restus inside?” Ruga asked. “I am afraid he’s not doing so well, sir. He needs a fire and some warmth, maybe even a doctor.”

  “Bring him right in,” Stiger said, then turned to his brother. “Can you get some blankets? He’s sick with a cold.”

  “I can,” Max said and left, heading back the way he had come.

  Using a shield as a litter, two of Ruga’s men bodily carried Father Restus inside. Restus was shivering uncontrollably and his teeth were chattering. The paladin’s forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat. He seemed barely conscious and was mumbling incoherently.

  “Place him in a chair by the fire pit,” Stiger ordered. The men set the paladin by the fire, then moved him to a chair. As they worked, Stiger grabbed one of the unlit clay oil lamps. He shook it and heard the slosh of oil. Without hesitation, he threw it onto the stacked logs, where it shattered, dousing the wood in flammable oil. He grabbed another lamp, this one lit, and did the same. The logs flared to life, roaring into flame.

  He stepped over to Restus and placed himself before the paladin’s chair. Ruga’s men moved aside for him. Restus was still mumbling to himself. Stiger pressed his palm against the paladin’s head. The man was burning up. Max returned with two wool blankets that had seen far better days. He wrapped the paladin with
both.

  “He doesn’t look so good,” Max said, then gave a gasp. “If I’m not mistaken, this man is a paladin, right? He attends functions with the High Priest now and then.”

  “He is the head of his order,” Marcus said, sounding troubled. “Part of the Old Order. That he is ill does not bode well for us. In the vision, he played a key part in what was to come.”

  Stiger glanced up at his father. He felt a terrible dread and looked back to the paladin. Restus was dying. Marcus knew it. Stiger was certain as well.

  The fire was blazing and beginning to radiate heat, but Stiger knew it would not be enough. Restus’s eyes suddenly opened and looked right at Stiger, then seemingly beyond, almost staring right through him. They had a distant, glassy cast to them. “I see the High Father waiting and the great river. The ferryman’s on his way over to help me make the crossing. Can you believe it?” The paladin’s voice was rapturous. “I have waited so long for this.”

  “It’s not your time yet.” Stiger took the man by both shoulders. He felt it to be true. Restus could not die. He was needed; there was still work for the man to do, good to be accomplished. “It’s not your time yet. Come back to us.”

  “I don’t want to,” Restus said, his breathing becoming labored and barely more than a whisper. “Let me go—please. I have waited so long … Let me join him.”

  Restus sagged in Stiger’s hands, his eyes closing.

  “Bloody stay with us,” Stiger fairly shouted, hoping to get through. “Stay with me, man.”

  Restus gasped and opened his eyes wide. The pupils were unfocused.

  “Ben.” Max grabbed his shoulder forcefully and tried to pull Stiger back. “Let him rest. He needs it. We will send for a doctor.”

  “No.” Stiger pulled his shoulder away. He could not allow Father Restus to die. Desperate, Stiger reached for the High Father’s power within. He felt the warmth of the High Father’s touch. In his mind’s eye, the burning ball of light grew intense.

  Will you give a little of your life force—sacrifice some—to help me save this faithful servant?