Fallen Empire: A Military Science Fiction Epic Adventure (Born of Ash Book 1)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Stiger had thought it impossible for the stench of the encampment to get any worse, yet it became much more awful and unpleasant once they were clear of the gate. It made his eyes burn. He had only ever once encountered a worse smell. That had been years before on a distant battlefield, with the dead numbering in the many thousands under a brutally hot sun, rotting quicker than they could be buried or burned.

  Massive numbers of tents and temporary ramshackle wooden buildings spread out before them, amongst a sea of mud flowing with animal and human excrement. The three worked their way slowly through the muddy streets with rows of tents on each side. They came upon a small stream, muddy brown and swollen from the day’s rain, running through the center of the encampment. The stream was threatening to flood nearby tents.

  A rickety wooden bridge, which looked as though it had been hastily constructed to ford the small stream, appeared at risk of being washed away by the growing rush of water. Unconcerned, the corporal guided them over the bridge and to a large rough-looking building directly in the center of the encampment. An overhang and porch had been constructed onto the building, almost as an afterthought, but probably in response to the rain and mud.

  Several staff officers on the porch loitered about in chairs, idly chatting and smoking pipes or playing cards, as the three horsemen approached. It was clear this was the main headquarters. A rough planked boardwalk that looked like it might sink into the mud at any moment connected the building to a row of larger tents and other nearby buildings. The porch and boardwalk served the purpose of saving the officers from having to get their perfectly polished boots muddy.

  A dirty and ragged slave, ankles disappearing in the muck, stepped forward to take the reins of their horses as the two officers dismounted. Stiger tried to avoid thinking about what was in the mud as his boots sank into it.

  “Good day, sirs.” The corporal saluted and swung his horse around, riding away before anything more could be required of him. Stiger understood that the man was relieved to be on his way. It was said that bad things tended to happen around Stigers.

  “This camp is an embarrassment,” Eli said quietly to Stiger. “It is very unfit.”

  “I hazard half the camp is down sick,” Stiger responded in sour agreement. He had never seen a legionary encampment in such a state. “Let us hope we are not detained here for months on end.”

  The two walked through the mud and up the steps to the front porch of the headquarters building, where they hastily kicked and scraped the muck from their boots. The headquarters building was not at all what one would expect for the commanding general of the South. The finely attired officers on the porch purposefully ignored the new arrivals. Stiger hesitated a moment and then stepped toward the building’s entrance, reaching for the door.

  “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” a young staff captain sitting in a chair demanded disdainfully without looking up from his card game. The man was casually smoking and took a rather slow pull from his pipe, as if to show he was in charge.

  Stiger turned to look at the staff captain, who wore expensively crafted legionary officer armor over a well-cut tunic and rich black boots. The armor was highly polished and the fine red cloak appeared to be freshly cleaned and brushed. There was not a hint of mud or dirt anywhere on the officer. He almost looked like the perfect toy soldier. Stiger took him to be of the soft type, a spoiled and pampered nobleman, likely from a minor yet wealthy house. At least wealthy or influential enough to secure his current position. Much like the ensign in the guardhouse, Stiger had also unfortunately encountered this kind of officer before—a bootlicking fool. Stiger’s lip curled ever so slightly in derision. The bootlicker, more concerned with his fawning entourage of fellow officers, did not seem to notice. Eli, however, did. He placed a cautioning hand on Stiger’s arm, which had come to rest upon the pommel of his sword.

  “I am ordered to report to General Kromen and that is what I intend to do,” Stiger responded neutrally, casually pulling his arm away from Eli’s restraining hand. The elf sighed softly. “Unless, of course, the general is not present. In that event I shall simply wait for his return.”

  “Oh, I believe the general is in,” the captain said with a sneer. “However, you do not get to see him without my personal permission.”

  Several of the other officers snickered.

  “Perhaps you should say … please?” one of the other officers suggested with a high-pitched voice. The others openly laughed at this.

  Stiger’s anger flared, though he kept the irritation from his face. The captain was likely an aide to the general, a player of camp politics, working to control access and thereby strengthening his powerbase. He was the kind of man who was rarely challenged openly. He was also someone who would most definitely hold a grudge if he was ever slighted or offended. In short, he was another arrogant fool, and Stiger loathed such men.

  Suffer the fool’s game or not? Stiger was new to the camp and the last thing he wanted was to get off on the wrong foot. Still, the captain’s manner irritated him deeply. The man should have behaved as a gentleman, and yet he had blatantly offended Stiger. Should he continue, Stiger would be justified in issuing a challenge to satisfy honor. Somehow, Stiger doubted General Kromen would approve of him killing, or at best maiming, one of his staff officers on his first day in camp.

  “Stop me,” Stiger growled. He opened the door and stepped through. The staff captain scrambled out of his chair and gave chase, protesting loudly.

  Inside, Stiger was greeted by a nearly bare room. The interior was intentionally darkened, the windows shuttered. Several lanterns provided moderately adequate lighting. A fireplace, set along the back wall, crackled. The chimney, poorly constructed, leaked too much smoke into the building. A table with a large map spread out on it dominated the center of the room. Three men stood around the table, while another, a grossly obese man, sat in a chair with his elbows resting heavily on the tabletop. He had the look of someone who was seriously ill. His face was pale and covered in a sheet of fever sweat. They all looked up at the sudden intrusion, clearly irritated. Two were generals, including the one who was seated, and the two others held the rank of colonel.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” the general who was standing demanded. He had a tough, no-nonsense look about him.

  “I am sorry, sir,” the bootlicking staff captain apologized, pushing roughly past Stiger and Eli. “I tried to stop them.”

  “Well?” the general demanded again of Stiger.

  Unfazed by the rank of the men in the room, Stiger pulled his orders from a side pocket in his cloak and stepped forward. “I am ordered to report to General Kromen for duty.”

  “I am General Kromen,” the large, seated man wheezed before being consumed by a wracking cough. After a few moments he recovered. “Who in the seven levels might you be?”

  “Captain Stiger reporting for duty, sir.” Stiger assumed a position of attention and saluted.

  “A Stiger?” the staff captain whispered, taking a step back in shock.

  The other general barked out a sudden laugh, while General Kromen went into another coughing fit that wracked his fat body terribly.

  “Captain Handi,” General Kromen wheezed upon recovering, waving a hand dismissively. His other hand held a handkerchief to his mouth. “It would seem,” he coughed, “we have important matters to discuss. You may go.”

  The captain hesitated a moment, looking between the standing no-nonsense general and the seated one before saluting smartly. He left the room without saying another word, though he managed to shoot a hate-filled look at Stiger as he passed.

  “A Stiger!” Kromen exclaimed in irritation once the door was closed. “Who is your companion?”

  Eli reached up and pulled back his hood, showing his face for the first time.

  “Hah!” Kromen huffed tiredly. “An elf. I swear, I never thought I’d see one of your kind again, at least in this life.”

  “Sadly, w
e are few in these lands, General,” Eli responded neutrally, with a slight bow.

  “An elf, as well as imperial officer? I thought you fellows had given up on the empire,” the other general stated.

  “The emperor granted a special dispensation to serve the one known here as Ben Stiger,” Eli answered, nodding in the direction of the captain. The nod had an odd tilt to it that reminded everyone present he was not quite human. Human necks just did not bend like that. “The rank conferred was to help me better serve.”

  “You serve a human?” the standing general asked with some surprise before turning back to Stiger. “What did you do to earn that dubious honor, Stiger?”

  “I, ah …” Stiger began after a slight hesitation, “would prefer not to discuss it, sir.”

  “The emperor,” Kromen breathed with a heavy sigh, steering the conversation away from a direction that Stiger was clearly uncomfortable speaking on. “The emperor and the gods have forsaken us in this wicked and vile land.”

  Kromen was an old and wily politician. Stiger suspected that the general would not press him, but would instead write back to his family in the capital to get an answer. Information was often more important than the might of an entire legion. More importantly, Stiger knew that Kromen wanted to know why a Stiger, a member of one of the most powerful families in the empire, was here in the South, and that required moving the conversation along.

  “Perhaps not … You asked for combat-experienced officers and men of quality. Well … here stands a Stiger,” the other general said after a moment’s reflection, taking General Kromen’s subtle nudge to change the subject. Stepping over, he took Stiger’s orders. “Were you in the North?”

  “Emperor’s Third Legion,” Stiger replied.

  “The Third gets all of the shit assignments.” The general handed the orders over to General Kromen, who opened them and began reviewing the contents. Silence filled the room, and all that could be heard was the pop of the logs in the fireplace and the rustle of parchment as General Kromen read.

  “An introduction letter from my good friend General Treim,” Kromen breathed hoarsely as he read.

  Stiger was familiar with the contents of the letter. According to the letter, the emperor had directed Treim to send a few of his best and most promising officers to the South. Stiger could imagine Kromen’s thoughts as the general looked up briefly with a skeptical look. The general was finding it hard to imagine that Treim would release one of his truly outstanding officers. The politician in Kromen would scream that there was more here than met the eye. Perhaps even the general might consider this whelp of a Stiger was actually a spy for his enemies in the senate looking to gain some advantage. Though the Kromen and Stiger families were not actually enemies, they were not allies either.

  “Interesting,” Kromen said after a few silent minutes, and then turned to the other general. “General Mammot, it seems that our good friend General Treim has dispatched this officer at our request. The letter indicates more such officers of quality are on the way. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” General Mammot replied dryly. “How long did it take you to travel down here, Stiger?”

  “Three and a half months, sir.”

  General Kromen was consumed by another fit of coughing. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, hacking into it.

  “Impressive time,” General Mammot admitted with a raised eyebrow and turned to Kromen. “Do you think he can fight?”

  “General Treim,” cough, “seems to think so.” Kromen handed over the letter of introduction, which General Mammot began reading. After a moment, he stopped and looked up, a strange expression crossing his face.

  “You volunteered and led not one, but two forlorn hopes?” Mammot asked in an incredulous tone. “Do you have a death wish, son?”

  Stiger elected not to respond and remained silent. Mammot continued to read.

  “Seems General Treim sent us a fighter, and the elf comes as a bonus.” Kromen took a deep and labored breath, having somewhat recovered from his latest coughing fit. He seemed to make a decision. He looked over meaningfully at General Mammot, who paused in his reading and caught his look. “We were discussing a pressing issue …”

  “We were,” Mammot agreed.

  “Well then … since we are now saddled with a … Stiger, perhaps he might prove of some assistance in resolving this irritating matter with Vrell? Don’t you agree?”

  General Mammot frowned slightly and considered Stiger for a moment before nodding in agreement. He waved both Stiger and Eli over to the table with the map.

  “Stiger,” Mammot said, “allow me to introduce Colonels Karol and Edin. They are brigade commanders from the Twenty-Ninth.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Stiger,” Colonel Karol said, warmly offering his hand. “I fought with your father when I was a junior officer. How is the old boy?”

  “Well, sir,” Stiger replied. His father was a touchy subject with most other officers. He found it was best to be vague in his answers to their questions. “His forced retirement wears on him.”

  “I can understand that,” Colonel Karol said. “Perhaps one day he may be permitted to once again take the field.”

  “I am not sure he ever will,” Stiger replied carefully. Many would feel threatened by such sentiments.

  Colonel Edin simply shook hands and refrained from saying anything. Stiger could read the disapproval in the man’s eyes. It was something the captain had grown accustomed to from his fellow officers.

  “Now that we are all acquainted,” General Mammot began, directing everyone’s attention to the map on the table, “we have an outpost four weeks’ march from here, located at Vrell, an isolated valley to the west with a substantial population.” Mammot traced a line along a road from the encampment to the outpost for Stiger to follow. “Specifically, the outpost garrisons one of the few castles in the South. We call it Castle Vrell. The locals call it something different.”

  “We have not heard from them for several weeks,” Kromen rasped. “We have dispatched messengers, but none have returned. It is all very irritating.”

  “The castle is a highly fortified position,” Mammot continued. “There are over nine hundred legionaries defending it and the valley. Vrell is an out-of-the-way place, surrounded by mountains and a nearly impenetrable forest. We think the castle unlikely to have fallen to enemy forces.” With his hand, Mammot traced a new line on the map, well south of Vrell. “The rebels control everything south of this line here … There are no roads traveling to rebel territory from Vrell. Beyond the mountains, it is all thick forest for about one hundred miles to rebel territory. The only road to Vrell moves from the encampment here, westward, through the Sentinel Forest and terminates at the valley. It is our opinion the enemy has simply cut our communications with a handful of irregulars.”

  “The garrison commandant, Captain Aveeno, has been complaining for months of rebels harassing his patrols and stirring up trouble,” Colonel Karol spoke up. “Then suddenly, nothing … no word.”

  “The garrison is due for resupply,” Kromen added, taking another labored breath. “Normally we would send a simple cavalry escort. However, with the road apparently infested with rebel irregulars, a foot company appears to be the more sensible approach.”

  “The Third has been heavily involved up north in the forests of Abath,” General Mammot said. “We would appreciate your expertise on the matter.”

  “Sounds like a difficult assignment,” Stiger said, noncommittally. “How are the rebels equipped in this area?”

  “Poorly.” Colonel Edin spoke for the first time. “This terrain presents a very difficult obstacle for the rebels to overcome. We have only ever encountered light units, mostly conscripted farmers … the equivalent of bandits.”

  “What is the condition of the road?” Stiger leaned forward to study the map more closely. Eli stepped closer as well. The map was a simple camp scribe copy.

  “Poor, but passable for wagons
,” Karol admitted. “Imperial maintenance crews repaired it just three years ago, so there should be no significant problems for the supply train.”

  “I don’t see any towns and villages.” Stiger found that odd for such a long road.

  “There are—or were—a handful of what you might call farming communities,” Edin admitted. “Really the remnants. I personally would be surprised if you discovered anyone left.”

  “Reprisals?” Stiger asked, looking up at Edin. He already knew the answer.

  “That was my predecessor’s work,” General Kromen answered carefully. “A nasty business, though he did a good job in clearing the bastards out. There should be no one left to support the rebels, at least we think, until you get to Vrell. The valley’s population is not with the rebels. For some strange reason, they seem to think of themselves as imperials, or at least descended from imperial stock. That said, they are not exactly friendly, at least according to Captain Aveeno’s last reports.”

  “Captain Aveeno could have sent a force to break through, could he not?” Stiger asked.

  “Not very likely,” Mammot answered with a heavy breath. “Captain Aveeno, the garrison commandant, is a bit cautious. He likely would have put everyone on short rations and kept them in defense of the castle and valley, rather than take the risk of losing additional men.”

  “Aveeno comes from a good family,” General Kromen wheezed, speaking up in defense of the man. “However, he is a timid sort, which is why he is commanding a garrison instead of leading a line company.”

  Stiger nodded, understanding what had not been said. General Kromen was likely Aveeno’s patron, hence his defense. “A good company should be able to get through, then,” Stiger said, looking down at the map once again. “Should the rebel forces operating in the area prove superior, a company will likely be able to get word out or at least fight its way back.”