Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) (23 page)

Eighteen

Stiger’s company was drawn up for review in the main courtyard of the castle. With the exception of a few men posted on the ramparts, and those assigned to escort the supply train, all of his men were present. They were clean, their equipment maintained, and from the look in their eyes, they considered themselves hard-charging veterans who had proven themselves in two fights, one of which resulted in the capture of a castle. They had shown they could march harder than any other company in the South, and they knew it.

A real battle would be the true test of their mettle, yet Stiger was pleased. The captain was proud of how far they had come. He intended to keep working the men, focusing on improvement. The more the captain thought about it, the more it seemed likely General Kromen or General Mammot would give the garrison to one of their cronies as a reward. Stiger wanted nothing more than a challenge, and that meant getting out in the field with his men. The more effective his company, the greater chance they would remain in the field and away from the main legionary encampment.

“What is that?” Stiger turned toward Lieutenant Ikely, who was standing to his right. The company was drawn up at attention. The captain was pointing at the 85
^th
’s standard-bearer, who stood next to Legionary Beck with the 13
^th
’s eagle. The sun broke through the clouds at that moment, and the golden eagle lit up.

“That, sir, I do believe, is our standard,” Ikely answered, without a hint of a smile.

“I know our standard,” Stiger growled, not appreciating the lieutenant’s cheek. A crossbar had been added, and something was draped around and across the bar. “What is that thing draped across it?”

“I believe the boys … ah …
liberated
the tiger pelt that was draped over the back of Captain Aveeno’s throne,” the lieutenant explained with a straight face.

“I see,” Stiger said, with a slight frown.

“They have also settled upon a name for the company,” the lieutenant added as an aside.

“A name?” Stiger was genuinely surprised. Legionary companies occasionally named themselves. This usually only occurred when the men had felt they had done something impressive. Named companies were considered blessed by the gods. Tradition prohibited officers from influencing the process. As such, naming a company was a very important affair, and it was considered bad form for a company to take a name without having achieved something noteworthy. It was widely believed that doing so would incur divine disfavor. Companies who violated tradition were shunned and suffered serious runs of bad luck, from accidents to terrible assignments. Men from other companies wanted nothing to do with them, as bad luck could be catching.

“So,” Stiger continued, his frown deepening, “having force-marched to Vrell, cleared a forest of bandits, recovered an imperial eagle, assaulted a castle and captured it—not to mention assisting a paladin of the High Father defeat a minion of the evil god Castor—qualifies my company for a name? Do you think they have done enough to avoid divine disfavor? Would the gods approve?”

“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Ikely said, still staring forward. “I believe the gods smile upon our company, and it seems the men feel our company has earned a name.”

“Will the gods approve?” Stiger asked, turning to face the men.

The men shouted a resounding “Yes!”

“And what name?” Stiger asked. He had never commanded a named company before. This was only his second command. Such names were usually fierce in nature, like the Bastards of the 5
^th
or the Abath Avengers. What had the men settled on, he wondered?

“Stiger’s Tigers,” the men shouted in unison.

Stiger was silent for several moments, the shouts still ringing around the courtyard’s walls.

“Should have been Stiger’s Bastards,” he said, a rare grin suddenly cracking his weather-hardened face, scar turning it to a slight sneer. “I do believe that Stiger’s Tigers will do.”

The men cheered at that, and it made Stiger’s heart warm. Rarely, if ever, did a company name themselves after their commanding officer. Such an event meant that they respected their commander greatly and believed in him. Stiger let them cheer for a moment or two more before returning to business.

“Let’s begin the inspection,” Stiger said to Lieutenant Ikely, stepping forward and up to the first man. Bennet could not suppress his grin or his foul breath as Stiger looked him over. Everything was perfect. Stiger gave Bennet a nod, and moved on to the next man. The men were his and he was theirs.

***

Stiger was sitting at the table, writing out a detailed report to Generals Kromen and Mammot. The sun had long since set. A fire blazed in the hearth, heating the room. The windows had been shuttered, as the temperature dropped to near-freezing. Winter was nearing with each passing day, and up here in the mountains, at higher elevation, it would arrive early. Two lamps burned brightly, providing the room plenty of illumination. A dented pewter mug of brandy sat before him. A thorough search of the castle had revealed the ancient casks, along with a barrel hoard of valley ale. The sergeants had wisely put it all under guard.

The captain had delayed writing his official report for several days. He had wanted the supply train to arrive so that he could report his mission to resupply Castle Vrell a success. He had also wanted to get a handle on the forces garrisoning the valley so that his report would be more complete.

The train had finally arrived that afternoon, and Stiger had begun writing the long-delayed report. At this late hour, the courtyard was still a scene of chaos as wagons were driven in and unloaded. Stiger had sent for Lieutenant Peal’s company to assist with the unloading. He had also left his lieutenants and sergeants to supervise so that he could write out his report. In the morning, he would dispatch a messenger, and then begin the long wait for a reply.

He was busily scratching away at the parchment with charcoal pencil when he heard hurried boots in the corridor outside. Guards were still posted outside his headquarters. He could hear them asking muffled questions before the door to the study opened. In walked Lieutenant Lan, Eli and a very dusty, road-weary cavalry trooper.

“Sir,” the cavalry trooper said, exhaustion heavy in his voice. “They’re gone! The legions are gone!”

Stiger dropped the charcoal pencil and looked at Lieutenant Lan, not understanding.

“As requested, I detached Terrance here back to the main encampment with your dispatch about clearing out the bandit camp,” Lieutenant Lan stated.

“I went to the encampment as ordered,” the trooper explained wearily. He was so exhausted that he leaned on the table for support. “The legions are gone, sir, and the encampment empty.”

“The fighting season is almost upon us,” Stiger said hopefully.

“They went north, sir, not south,” the trooper continued. “The road is all torn up in that direction.”

“North?” Stiger asked, incredulous. Why would the army march north? Marching north was pulling back and ceding more territory to the rebels.

Stiger had been part of armies that made unexpected movements in response to an enemy, but this was different. With those unexpected movements, messengers were always dispatched to isolated outposts or units out in the field. The captain clamped down on the stem of his pipe with his teeth as anger began to overcome his surprise. They had been abandoned!

“You came across no messengers?” he asked.

“No sir,” the trooper said emphatically.

“Why didn’t you follow the army?” Stiger asked, as a thought occurred to him. That would have been the natural thing for the man to have done. There must have been a reason he had not. Stiger was afraid to hear it.

“The whole cursed rebel army showed up,” the trooper explained wearily, “the rebels are marching north! I stayed hidden in the forest, watching them for some time. But that is not the worst of it, sir …”

Stiger closed his eyes momentarily, knowing what was coming.

“Part of the rebel army is marching here, sir, to Vrell.”

“You are sure of it?” Stiger asked.

“I am,” the man breathed, “at least twenty thousand foot. I stayed hidden in the forest and counted companies, sir.”

Stiger stood, took a puff off his pipe, and walked over to the hearth. His mind was racing. He could understand retreating north. The southern legions were in no condition for a standup battle with the rebel army. That had been abundantly clear when he had seen the condition of the main encampment. What bothered him was being abandoned.

Generals Kromen and Mammot had to have known the rebel army was preparing to move north. There was no way they could not have known! The southern legions were in no condition for a fight, which meant they knew that they were going to retreat in the coming days when the roads solidified and the fighting season began. They had sent him, a potential headache, to Vrell to get him out of the way. Yet in reality, they had effectively sent him here to die. The rage he felt at being so callously and intentionally abandoned burned hotter the more he thought about it. Stiger and the garrison were trapped. The enemy was coming, and if true, in overwhelming numbers.

Stiger continued to stare into the fire as he turned over the situation in his mind. He held the most fortified position in the entire South, with over one thousand men at hand and winter coming. Winter in the South was typically the fighting season, but Vrell was in the mountains. At the higher elevations, the winter would be severe and Vrell was far from any source of enemy supply. He chuckled suddenly, realizing that he would be staying in Vrell much longer than he had planned or hoped.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Lan asked, worried at hearing his captain chuckle. He was wondering if Stiger had cracked. “What do we do?”

“We fight,” Stiger growled, turning back from the fire.

“Fight, sir?” Lan asked.

“We hold the castle, the most fortified position in the South. What we do, Lieutenant, is fight!”

“The legions will return,” Eli added. “They always come back.”

“Of course,” Stiger snapped. “We have a duty to defend Vrell and hold it.”

“That could be years,” Lan stated.

“Then we hold it for years,” Stiger said. Stiger turned to Blake, who had followed Lan and the trooper in. “Sergeant Blake, send for two of Eli’s scouts. We need to get word of our condition here to the legions before it is too late to sneak word out.”

“Yes sir,” Blake said, and left.

“How far is the enemy?” Stiger asked the trooper.

“Two week’s hard march, maybe,” he reported. “Likely three to four. They seemed in no hurry.”

“Eli,” Stiger said suddenly. “We need to make their life marching here hell, and slow them down long enough for winter to arrive.”

“I can think of several places we can ambush the rebel column,” Eli said, nodding, “and a few of my scouts harassing them with bows could slow them down even further.”

“Excellent,” Stiger said, with a fierce look. “We will also need axe parties felling trees across the road.” Stiger started pacing the room. “I think our best chance to really cut them up will be in the foothills. You could hide an army in those hills, we can …”

“You can’t be serious, sir,” Lan broke in. “You are going to attack the enemy?”

“I am going to do much more than that, Lieutenant.” Stiger turned to the cavalry officer. “I am going to make them regret they ever heard of Vrell.”

Epilogue

“Open it up,” Braddock snapped. One of his guards obediently stepped forward and unlocked the steel door. He leaned heavily on it and pushed. Metal hinges groaned and shrieked as the heavy door swung open outward. Sunlight forced Braddock to shield his eyes as a strong, cold wind blasted into the room, kicking up centuries of undisturbed dust.

Squinting, Braddock stomped out onto the small terrace carved into the side of the mountain that had long ago served as a watch post. From below in the valley, the watch post was invisible, as it had been intended to be. A small wall enclosed the terrace.

He laid his hands on the wall and looked down. Vrell Valley spread out before him in all its green, bountiful grandeur. He had spent much of his youth in the valley, for once the land had been his people’s. After the Compact … no longer.

“This brings back memories, my Thane,” Garrack said, emerging onto the terrace and leaning against the wall.

“That it does.” Braddock glanced over at his oldest friend and closest confidant before turning his gaze back down on the valley below. “That it does.”

They were silent for a time, both lost in their own thoughts. A strong gust of wind swirled around them.

“Evil has entered our valley,” Braddock said sadly, breaking the silence, as he gazed down upon the great citadel guarding the pass to the wider world. The humans called it Castle Vrell. His people called it something different. It did not matter. What did matter was what was coming.

“The clans are assembling as called,” Garrack growled angrily, for he had also spent his youth here. “For the first time in three centuries, we field a unified army. You will cleanse this valley of its stench and restore the Compact.”

“That I will,” Braddock affirmed, slamming a mailed fist down upon the ancient wall. “Before our gods, I swear it!”

End of Book One

About the Author

Marc Edelheit was born in New York State. After graduating from college with a Masters in Education as a Reading and Writing Specialist, Marc became a teacher and ultimately a middle school administrator. He is currently an executive in the healthcare industry staying up late at night to work on his novels. Marc is also the host of a successful (free) history podcast 2CentHistory.

A Note From The Author

I hope you enjoyed Stiger’s Tigers. It has been my pleasure to introduce you to the first of Ben and Eli’s adventures … picking up oddly enough somewhere in the middle. A
positive review
would be awesome and greatly appreciated as it affords me the opportunity to focus more time and energy on my writing.

Grammar suggestions and any spelling corrections are most welcome. Please contact me through email or amazon.

Thank you …

Marc