The Tiger’s Imperium

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Stiger did not even hesitate, did not even need to question who was asking. He had heard his god speak before.

  Yes.

  The ball of light flared, becoming blazing hot, and it wasn’t a soothing feeling either. Pain blasted through Stiger. From head to toe, everything seemed to be on fire. Through his hands holding the paladin’s shoulders, power flowed outward and into Restus, much like a flood. Yet instead of water, it was a torrent of energy. Stiger almost screamed as the power roared through him, lancing and ripping away a measure of his soul, but he could not move. He was frozen to immobility.

  There was a thunderous crack, followed by a bell tolling. The room exploded into white light. Though he could not move, Stiger saw his father and brother take a step back, as did Ruga and his men. The ground shook. Then, as abruptly as it came, it ceased. The god withdrew much of his power and the pain ended. Stiger felt a sense of calm settle over him. It soothed him, salved the wound within his soul. He took a deep breath and exhaled it as the High Father’s power within continued to dim to what it had been moments before.

  A moment later, it roared back. Stiger almost wept, for he felt his connection with his god like never before. It was as if he were standing before the High Father himself, basking in the god’s august presence. He could feel the pure love, the trust from his god, and with it came a sense of calm and pure peace. He felt a tear run down his cheek at the wondrous joy of the moment. He was blessed, honored, and in a way felt rejuvenated.

  My ability to directly intervene, influence events upon this world, will soon come to an end. So too will the other gods’. When it does, you will have all the tools you need to see my work and the effort of those who preceded you finished, completed.

  The road before you will not be an easy one. It will be difficult and rocky. Do not doubt yourself … go forth, my son, with confidence and cunning and armed with faith.

  A dark stain has fallen upon my house. Cleanse it and restore the faithful. You will also have to ultimately contend with Rarokan and the enemy. Heed your father’s words and counsel well. He is wise and has suffered, just as you have. I grieve for you both.

  All that is good in this world rests upon both your shoulders. Listen and heed my words, for there is a place you must go, a place you must visit, a person to honor, and a debt to be repaid.

  I promised Karus and your people an empire without end. It will be up to you now, my Champion, to see that promise fulfilled. In you, I have placed my faith.

  His task was before him.

  “I will see it all through to the end,” Stiger said as a whisper.

  Thank you, my son.

  The High Father withdrew, leaving Stiger feeling somewhat bereft. He still had the connection burning within, just not as intense as it had been a heartbeat before. Almost slowly, he became aware of his surroundings again. He found Restus looking into his eyes. Stiger blinked, suddenly feeling tired, terribly weary. For a moment, his vision swam. Then it cleared. He blinked again, not quite sure he believed his eyes.

  The sickness had gone, but that was not all. Father Restus was no longer a decrepit old man at the end of his years. He was middle-aged, almost youthful, without even the trace of a wrinkle.

  “It seems the High Father is not done with me yet,” Restus said, his voice strong and far from raspy. There was a trace of a sad smile upon his face. “You have given some of your life force. I can feel it within. It is a gift I do not feel worthy of receiving.” The paladin paused to suck in a shuddering breath. “The High Father has given me even more—a second chance to serve, a new opportunity to make a difference. I swear to you and our god, I shall not waste this wondrous gift you both have bestowed upon me.”

  Stiger straightened and took a stumbling half step back. He felt no different, other than being a little more tired and weary.

  Restus gazed down at his hands in pure amazement, turning them over, flexing his joints. He moved his neck around.

  “No pain,” Restus said to himself, “no more ache. The stiffness in my joints is gone.” Then the paladin looked at Stiger and he sobered. “One day, my time will come to cross over the great river. After today, it is clear I have much work left to do. Though it will be difficult, I will be patient, for when my journey finally ends, my god will be waiting with open arms.”

  “Blessed gods,” Max breathed, “a true miracle. You have healed him.”

  Stiger looked around at his brother and father, who were staring at him in wonder.

  “Gods blessed, is more like it,” Ruga said. “He is the Champion of the High Father and my emperor.”

  Marcus clapped his hands together with a clear sense of triumph. “I would not change anything that I’ve done. For this is the choice I made, the future I chose for you, my son, favored of the gods and—an empire without end.”

  Stiger stared at his father, not quite knowing what to say. His father stood himself to attention and saluted in the old style, with his arm extended.

  “Hail Emperor Stiger and Champion of the High Father, defender of the empire. I pledge my loyalty to you and that of my house, Imperator. In the High Father’s name, I swear it so.”

  Chapter Ten

  Stiger rubbed at his eyes as he lowered himself into a chair by the fire. It creaked as it took his armored weight. He felt terribly weary and spent, exhausted even. The warmth of the fire felt good, for the hall was cold, almost frigid.

  A door banged open. Stiger looked, as did everyone else. Empty-handed, Eli and Therik emerged from the door that led to the kitchen. The door banged closed after them as they made their way across the hall toward the fire. As they approached the last few feet, both slowed, eyeing Restus warily.

  “What did we just miss?” Eli asked, looking between Stiger and Restus several times in rapid succession. His gaze finally settled on Stiger as he came to a stop next to the fire.

  Stiger let out a long breath that was more sigh than anything else. He did not feel like explaining. He just wanted to sit in the chair, recover, and enjoy the warmth of the fire.

  “Why do you assume it was me?”

  Eli tilted his head to the side and gave him a long look. “Seriously?”

  Therik’s gaze was fixed on the paladin. He gestured at the man. “He is Restus, right? He’s wearing the same armor and looks kind of like him, only younger—a lot younger.”

  Stiger glanced over at the paladin. Restus’s armor and kit looked ill-fitting. It was clearly too tight for the man, who now looked to be in the prime years of his life, powerfully muscled and broad-shouldered. He even appeared slightly taller. The transformation was truly astonishing. Even Stiger had to admit that, and he’d had a hand in it.

  The paladin had been working at untying the leather straps on the left side of his armor. He had already removed his sword and harness, setting both on a chair. Restus paused, looking up directly at Therik, then glanced down at himself and back up again. The paladin grinned at the orc.

  “It’s me. I would love to see a mirror right now.” Restus returned to working on the strap. “I really would.”

  “You are no longer old,” Therik said simply.

  Stiger continued rubbing at his eyes. The weary feeling intensified, as did a reluctance to talk about what had just happened. He yawned mightily. With the fire shedding its warmth, a nap sounded good about now.

  “What did you do?” Eli asked again, clearly refusing to be put off. “Tell me.”

  Stiger looked up at his friend. The fire cracked loudly, with smoke swirling toward the hole in the ceiling. For some reason, he found himself hesitating. “How to explain …?”

  “It is simple,” Eli said. “You start at the beginning and move on from there until you come to the end of the story.”

  Still, Stiger found himself reluctant. It was almost as if he was being prohibited from talking about what had just happened. Feeling suddenly helpless, he looked toward Restus.

  “With the High Father’s help, he healed me,” Restus said,
coming to Stiger’s rescue. “Sometimes after such work, it is difficult to speak on such things. It has been speculated that the High Father does not want us boasting about what has been done. At least that is what some paladins have come to believe. But no one really knows for sure why it happens.”

  “He healed you?” Eli seemed as if he did not quite believe what the paladin said. He pointed at Stiger. “It looks to me like he did a little more than that.”

  Restus gave a nod of affirmation. “With the High Father’s help, of course. It is a great honor, one which I do not feel worthy of receiving. I will do my utmost to repay this blessing through service.”

  “Sickness I can understand,” Eli breathed, “but I’ve never ever heard of anyone being cured of aging. Not even amongst elves have I heard tell of such a thing, and we have long memories. Some of my people have searched their entire lives for a fountain of life or youth—whatever you want to call it. No one has ever found one.” The elf took a step nearer Restus, studying him intently. The elf reached out a finger and poked at Restus’s arm, as if making sure he was real. “This is truly astounding, astonishing.”

  “I thought your people were immortal.” Therik looked over at Eli. “Elves live forever. At least that is what I’ve always thought, what people say.”

  “Though many of our elders would like to think so”—Eli glanced over at the orc before returning his gaze to the paladin—“like any other, we are mortal beings, just long-lived.”

  “Huh,” Therik said. “Isn’t that something.”

  “Though it may be shocking to you both, the High Father simply saw fit to give me more time upon this world,” Restus said. “There is additional work for me to do, good to be done.”

  Eli stared at the paladin for a protracted moment. “Incredible, just incredible.”

  “It is only the Will of my god,” Restus said, “nothing more. Having faith brings one many rewards and sometimes”—he glanced down at his unblemished hands—“sometimes, there are gifts that prove to be wholly unexpected.”

  Shaking his head, Eli walked over to the table with the pitcher. He poured himself a mug of the bitter wine. He turned back and stared at Restus for several heartbeats before downing the wine in one swallow. He put the mug down on the table, a little too hard. The clay mug made an audible clunking sound. Stiger was surprised it did not break. “Just incredible.”

  Therik, for his part, gave a grunt, followed up by a shrug of his shoulders. He turned toward the fire and held out his hands for warmth. “My people have a saying: The gods will do what the gods will do.”

  “We missed a miracle, Therik,” Eli said. “Don’t you think it would have been something to see?”

  “It happened,” Therik said, suddenly sounding bored. “Accept it.”

  “It happened?” Eli asked, incredulous, his voice rising in pitch. “Accept it? Is that all you have to say?”

  “At the moment, I am famished,” Therik replied. “I could do with something to eat, preferably some roasted beef or even the bread that was promised. There was nothing in that kitchen worth eating, nothing cooked anyway.”

  “You’re still thinking about food?” Eli was aghast. “Seriously? At a time like this? Unbelievable. Ben … where exactly did you find him again?”

  “This is not the first time I have seen such a thing,” Therik said.

  “Oh really?” Eli sounded dubious. “You’ve known another who has been rejuvenated?”

  “A priest I knew was restored to his youth by Castor,” Therik said with a sour note. “That and the medicine the priest could wield almost cost me everything.”

  “His name was Cetrite,” Stiger said, in a near whisper. “Father Thomas killed him.”

  “Yes, he did.” Therik bared his tusks. “That was a good day—a very fine day. Not only did I kill my traitorous son, but Thomas took that bastard priest’s head from his body. It was a beautiful killing. I wish I had thought to save the skull to fashion a drinking mug. Still, Cetrite had more than earned what he got. Had he survived, I would have shared a drink with Thomas and toasted him. I was saddened by his passing.”

  “Me too,” Stiger breathed.

  “He made the ultimate sacrifice for the future,” Therik said.

  Stiger recalled that day quite vividly. It had seen him mortally wounded and dying, his soul on the verge of crossing over the great river. Father Thomas had given his life to save Stiger’s. He still felt terribly guilty about that. Stiger put a hand to his chest, where the minion’s blade had pierced him. Despite the healing and Father Thomas’s sacrifice, the wound had never healed quite right. When it rained or snowed, he still felt some discomfort, and sometimes it even throbbed painfully.

  Marcus cleared his throat loudly. “Miracles aside, as impressive as that was, we need to begin thinking about Lears and how we’re going to deal with him. The sooner the better.”

  “Agreed,” Max said as he moved over to the table and poured himself a drink. “We either need to go after him now or leave the city.”

  “You mean flee?” Stiger asked, looking up. His weariness retreated at the suggestion. He felt a stab of anger.

  “We are running out of time,” Max said, taking a sip of his wine. “The longer we remain here talking, the more time Lears has to react to your presence.”

  Stiger regarded his brother for a long moment. “I did not come all this way to run. Besides, I have an old score to settle with Lears. He has wronged me, and I am not in a forgiving mood.”

  “How many men did you bring?” Marcus asked as he too took a chair next to Stiger’s.

  “One hundred,” Stiger said. “I don’t know how many of Corus’s company came over, maybe thirty—give or take a few. The rest of my army hasn’t even left Lorium yet. By foot, they are weeks away at best.”

  “And the dragons?” Marcus asked. “By the High Father, they were impressive beasts. What of them?”

  “They are gone,” Stiger said plainly.

  “What do you mean gone?” Max took a step closer. “Where did they go?”

  “I sent them back to the army,” Stiger said.

  “Whatever for?” Max asked, clearly dismayed. “Why would you send them away?”

  “They are needed here.” Marcus’s disapproval was plain. “You could have used them as leverage to unseat Lears. Just the mere threat of using them would have proved incredibly valuable. Explain to me your thinking.”

  “I can’t afford to have what happened to Tioclesion’s army happen to mine,” Stiger said. “It was a risk even using them to come north. You have to understand, I must protect the army, and that includes our allies, from the enemy’s wyrms.”

  “Wyrms,” Max said, “what are they?”

  “Think of slightly smaller dragons,” Eli said, “but no less deadly.”

  “There are different types of dragons?” Max asked.

  “Oh yes,” Eli said. “Some are friendly and others … not so much.”

  “And the Cyphan have more dragons than we do.” Stiger paused. “At least, that’s what we believe. Besides, the city is not the place to bring such creatures into. Were I to do that, things could go badly, and very quickly too. They breathe fire and will not hesitate to defend themselves if attacked. I think we can all agree that Mal’Zeel must not burn.”

  “This is not good,” Max said, looking over at his father. He began to pace. “Not good.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed, “it is not. A little more than a hundred men against what Lears has. We are at a serious disadvantage.”

  “How many men does he have in the city?” Eli asked. “Do you know?”

  “Several hundred legionaries,” Marcus answered. “Likely a few hundred more irregulars and auxiliaries. He also has great numbers of militia spread throughout the city. They’re barely trained, and their loyalty is questionable, but when you have numbers—sometimes quality does not matter all that much. Not counting the militia, I’d say he probably has about a thousand good men. Though Lear
s is a fool in my opinion, even he won’t wait long before he comes for us.”

  “Especially after he learns about what happened with Corus and his praetorians,” Max said. “And now, your one good deterrent, the dragons, are gone.”

  Stiger did not respond. It might have been a mistake, but he had made his decision and now he had to live with it. He simply could not afford to lose the army that would soon be marching up to Lorium. At the moment, they needed the two dragons more than he did. And soon enough, he would need every available sword to counter the enemy’s numerical advantage.

  “A threat is a threat, and the best way to deal with it is to end it,” Marcus said.

  All of the straps undone, Father Restus lifted his armor over his head and set it against one of the nearby pillars. All he wore underneath was a simple gray tunic and his sandals. He picked his sword harness up from the chair and slung it over his head and shoulder, settling it into place.

  “Now, that is much better,” the paladin said, regarding his armor for a long moment. “I will need to get it adjusted, perhaps even remade.”

  “No doubt.” Stiger blew out a long breath as he turned to his father. “And I am the threat you were referring to?”

  “Lears will want to deal with you as quickly as possible and set an example that others cannot mistake,” Max said, drawing Stiger’s attention back, “before there are any more defections from amongst his ranks.”

  “Navaro, Treim, and Aetius were to have a few hundred men waiting,” Stiger said. “Do you know how to contact them?”

  “No,” Marcus said. “I don’t. With any luck, they might find us. But I would not hold out hope. Lears has been arresting and executing people who might pose a threat to him and his new position. Any potential allies may very well have gone into hiding. That is, if they are still breathing.”

  “Do you have anyone we can rely upon in the city?” Stiger asked.

  “No,” Marcus said. “Most of our clients have long since left us.”

  “What of your army?” Stiger asked, looking at his father. “We saw them marching east.”