Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) (17 page)

“I must admit this little trip to Vrell has really gotten interesting,” Father Thomas said as he began walking around the sarcophagus.

“Interesting is not what I would call it.” Stiger was having trouble catching his breath. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest.

“There is some type of trunk back here,” Father Thomas announced. Stiger forced himself to look away from the eagle and walked around to join the paladin on the other side of the sarcophagus. Sure enough, a large oak chest was nestled against the base. From the other side, it had been hidden from view.

Stiger stepped forward and bent, sliding the latch slowly back on the trunk. As he did so, he felt a funny tingle run up his arms. It happened so quickly, Stiger was unsure it had occurred at all. He opened the trunk, revealing an engraved set of armor inside. The armor gleamed as if it had been freshly polished that very morning. It had an archaic look to it, which Stiger had seen before. Every imperial family of standing had a room in their house completely dedicated to honoring their ancestors. Such rooms told the history and prestige of the family. Many included wax death masks and personal items such as swords or sets of armor that important ancestors had once used. Stiger stood and backed up, looking down at the armor in the chest. He had no doubt as to whom the armor belonged. His own family’s ancestor room held nothing for General Delvaris. Stiger had the distinct feeling that was about to change.

Legionary Beck moved forward for a look. There was suddenly a deep hum that reverberated angrily through the air. The legionary got a strained look on his face, began to sweat and rapidly backed away, breathing heavily. The hum immediately ceased.

“I would not attempt that again,” Father Thomas offered casually. “It would seem that the chest and the items on the sarcophagus are magically warded.”

“Gods that hurt,” Legionary Beck breathed in relief. “I had a feeling that if I went further it would have killed me.”

“I suspect that it would have,” Father Thomas said matter-of-factly. “There is a very good chance that had you taken another step or two …”

“Then how did the captain get close enough to touch it?” the legionary asked. He was sweating profusely and breathing heavily. His face had turned a ghostly white.

“The captain has the right blood, of course,” Eli pointed out. Stiger snapped a dark look at his friend.

“Only one of sufficient blood may retrieve the legion’s honor,” Father Thomas repeated, looking over at the captain. “Might you be related by blood to General Delvaris?”

Stiger nodded and turned his gaze back to the set of armor resting in the trunk. Every child by noble birth learned his own family history at an early age. It was drilled into him until he could recite it by memory. Stiger was no different. He could recite and retell his family history going back to the founding of the empire. There had been nothing in the ancestor’s room from General Delvaris, but that had not stopped the instructors from drilling the general’s story into him. Up until a few moments ago, his great great grandfather, Ut’Hule Delvaris, had been a stain upon his family’s honor. Now he was not so sure.

Glancing around at the monument erected on behalf of the 13
^th
, Stiger was beginning to suspect that his long deceased relative had achieved something noble and of great import. What that was he had no idea.

“The gods move in mysterious ways,” Father Thomas spoke. “As I am called to serve, I feel confident you were called here for a purpose.”

Stiger met the paladin’s gaze and nodded soberly. He could not deny the paladin’s words. It was rare for an officer to be transferred from one legion to another, and yet that was what had occurred. Not for the first time, Stiger considered that providence had a guiding influence on his life.

The captain looked around the interior of the monument. He could not see any additional writing, signs, etchings or engravings. He wanted to know what the 13
^th
and his ancestor had done to warrant such an honor.

“Do you have any idea what happened to the 13
^th
?” he asked Eli.

“There is nothing else that I can find,” Eli admitted sadly. “Though I would hazard your relative and the legionaries of the 13
^th
achieved something of intense importance for the dwarves to erect this monument in their honor. From what I know of the dwarves … it takes much to move them.”

“Then we take this with us,” Stiger said, gesturing toward the eagle, sword and chest. “It is time for the eagle to be returned to the emperor.”

With that, Stiger stepped up to the sarcophagus, which was nearly as tall as he was, and reached out, taking hold of the staff, on which the imperial eagle was mounted. As he had felt with the chest, that same funny tingle ran up his arms. Again, it happened so quickly, Stiger was unsure it had occurred at all. Holding the staff firmly with both hands, he lifted it up into the air. There was a sudden flash of intense white light around the eagle, followed by what sounded like a bell ringing throughout the monument. Stunned, Stiger stepped back, his eyes fixated upon the eagle held aloft. After a moment, he looked over at Eli, questioning.

“The ward has been broken,” Eli said simply. “I believe anyone can now touch those items.”

Stiger looked up the staff once again at the eagle. Each legion was personally presented one by the emperor himself. An eagle represented the collective honor of the legion and that of the empire. There were currently twenty-two legions in the empire, which meant there were only twenty-two eagles. Without knowing her fate, the 13
^th
had not been officially disbanded, just simply listed as “Vanished” and struck from the rolls, though her eagle was still listed among the twenty-two in the field. It was a convenient way for both the emperor and empire to not lose face. No matter what the status of the 13
^th
had been, while the eagle was still held, the 13
^th
lived. Well, lived again, Stiger corrected his thinking. After their mission to Vrell, the eagle would be returned to the emperor. At that point, the emperor would decide the 13
^th
’s ultimate fate. Without more to the story, Stiger suspected General Delvaris would remain disgraced, but at least the stain upon the family would be lessened. Perhaps it might even be enhanced by the mystery, Stiger mused.

“You,” Stiger said suddenly to Legionary Beck, who had nearly died just moments before. “I name you eagle bearer.”

The legionary’s eyes went wide and he turned perhaps even paler than when the magical ward had nearly struck him down. To name a man eagle bearer was one of the greatest honors a legionary could rise to. Eagle bearers were treated as special men; they were saluted and received pay equivalent to that of an officer. The man held the honor of the legion in his hands and was expected to defend it with his life. That individual had sole responsibility for the eagle and it would be in their presence at all times when not planted at legionary headquarters.

Stiger handed the standard to the legionary, who tentatively took it. “I bestow upon you great responsibility and trust.”

“I accept the honor,” the legionary said shakily, gripping the standard tightly with a fierce look in his eyes. “I will protect this eagle with my life.”

Satisfied with the man’s resolve, Stiger turned to Eli. “Is there anything else to see?”

“No,” Eli admitted. “I believe we have seen all there is.”

“Then it is time we depart,” Stiger growled. “We need to return to the company. You two get the trunk.”

The two legionaries Stiger directed moved forward and, cautiously at first, touched the chest. When nothing happened, they closed the lid. Both rapidly hauled it up by the handles and easily carried it between them. Stiger reached for the sword and the folded cloak resting on the sarcophagus. He handed both to Legionary Starnes, who was not carrying anything.

“I will meet you outside shortly,” Stiger informed them. “I would like a few moments with my ancestor and the gods.”

The legionaries moved out immediately. Eli spared Stiger an odd look before following. Father Thomas said nothing but followed Eli.

Stiger watched them go and then turned back to the sarcophagus that held the remains of a man who, until recently, he had viewed poorly. He offered a prayer of thanks to the High Father and asked one day to learn the full story. He then touched the stone sarcophagus reverently. Honored ancestors meant everything to imperial families.

“I will return the eagle and with it your honor. On this I swear,” Stiger announced solemnly. He hesitated a moment, then turned and began walking toward the double doors, his boot falls echoing solidly off the walls. As he walked out, the magical light behind him began to fade.

“
Thank you
…”

Stiger froze. Had someone spoken? He turned to look back, unsure that he had even heard anything. He was clearly alone. Shaking his head, he decided he had imagined it and continued out.

Fourteen

Four days after the assault on the bandit camp and two days after Stiger’s small party had rejoined the main body, the road began to climb and fall more steeply with each passing mile. They had entered a set of heavily forested foothills, which presaged the great mountains to come. With the cresting of each hill, the snowcapped mountains could be seen in the distance.

There had been a great deal of excitement on the captain’s return. Legionary Beck had placed himself proudly at the head of the column, marching with the golden eagle held aloft. The fight had given the men confidence. The hard marching had reinforced that feeling, and the eagle solidified it. The men felt pride in themselves and their achievements. The discovery of the Vanished, the eagle and General Delvaris’ tomb only confirmed that the entire affair was an auspicious event, in that the gods were giving their blessing to both the captain and the company. With the recovery of the eagle, they knew their company, the 85
^th
, would become legend. Some had even begun openly wondering if their captain was Gods Blessed. The fact that a paladin marched with them only added to the feeling.

The suggestion that providence had blessed him made Stiger uncomfortable. His life had been anything but easy to be considered Gods Blessed. Stiger responded by driving the men even harder. So hard did they march, they began circulating a joke that they were not infantry but instead “foot cavalry.” Stiger smiled every time he heard this, another sign they were taking pride in being part of the company.

The captain walked Nomad, sharing the miles and sweating alongside the men. He had placed himself near the middle of the column. He could see the 13
^th
’s eagle at the head, glinting with golden flashes whenever a stitch of sunlight broke through the canopy. Up and down and up once again was the story of this day’s march as the road traversed hill after hill. The closer they got to Vrell, the more pronounced the hills. Even worse, as a direct result of the grade, the road exhibited increasing signs of distress. Large portions were rutted or partially washed away, which meant care had to be taken where feet were placed.

Studying the road critically, Stiger understood the supply train would have their work cut out for them. Where he could, he had fallen trees and debris moved out of the way. This would help save time for the train, which was now several days behind. Once the train entered the hills, the wagons would be slowed due to the rugged condition of the road.

“You march hard, Captain,” Father Thomas stated with a ready smile, having ridden up. Stiger nodded a greeting to the Holy Father as the paladin dismounted to walk alongside the captain.

“The men can do better,” Stiger responded with a trace of a frown.

“Can’t we all,” Father Thomas agreed, sensing Stiger’s meaning. The captain had avoided the paladin since their return, which was why Father Thomas had sought him out. The paladin understood the captain’s discomfort.

Neither said anything for several minutes amid the ever-present crunch of many footfalls sprinkled with the occasional laugh as men joked and bantered to pass the time. Stiger glanced up at the sky, which had begun to cloud up. Perhaps they might get rained on, he considered. A light rain to help cool down might be welcome; however, the temperatures had begun dipping alarmingly each evening. A little relief now could mean an uncomfortable night later.

“When was the last time you spoke on your sins?” Father Thomas asked abruptly, referring to the sinner’s ritual.

Stiger glanced briefly over at the paladin with a hooded expression. He did not immediately respond, but instead chose to weigh his response. He had not dealt with his sins in a good long while, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to just yet.

“I am not entirely sure,” Stiger finally said, deciding to answer directness with honesty. He would have preferred to avoid the conversation altogether. “The High Father is not my family’s sole deity.”

“A follower of the Old Order?” Father Thomas asked, with some surprise.

“My family are followers of the Order,” Stiger confirmed, “though we honor the High Father and he is part of the Order, as you well know.”

“I should have expected nothing different,” Father Thomas said, with a slightly sardonic smile. “You come from an interesting family, my son.”

“Don’t we all,” Stiger responded rather blandly. There were times he wished he had been born into an ordinary household, one with very few expectations and responsibilities. How much simpler would life have been? How much pain would he have been spared?

“Some families are more interesting than others,” Father Thomas breathed, smile leaving his face.

“Unfortunately,” Stiger agreed with a sour expression.

“There is another way to look at it,” Father Thomas offered. “Some are more blessed than others by being born to such families.”

“That is one blessing I would gladly return.” Stiger spoke barely above a whisper.

“Is it?” Father Thomas asked with a skeptical expression. “Would you really return such a blessing?”

Stiger grunted in reply and glanced away. Being a Stiger was both a blessing and a burden. His family was wealthy and powerful almost beyond belief, but it came with a price. Nomad nudged his shoulder gently as if in rebuke to his master’s words and thoughts. Stiger cast his horse a brief look and reached up, patting his neck.

“Is it so terrible, being a Stiger?” Father Thomas asked sincerely. “You would not lie to one of the cloth, would you?”

“I found Father Griggs much more taciturn in nature,” Stiger responded wryly.

Father Thomas let out a guffaw at that, which caused several nearby legionaries to glance over. Their captain was such a serious man that they sometimes thought him nearly incapable of jest. “I talk too much. Is that it?”

“I prefer to take religion on my own terms,” Stiger answered simply, wishing to turn the subject away from his family. “I do not enjoy being pushed by others to worship as they wish me to.”

“There are some who would brand you a heretic for a comment like that,” Father Thomas said, probing for a response. “Such talk could be considered dangerous.”

“Are you one of those people?” Stiger asked, looking meaningfully at the paladin.

“Oh, heavens no!” Father Thomas chuckled. “I am more pragmatic and tolerant in my approach to worship and belief structures. You see, in my calling, I have to be more, shall we say, understanding. Not all is evil that does not agree with the High Father’s teachings.”

“Is that so?”

“Life is not as black and white as the absolutists believe,” Father Thomas replied heavily.

“That is encouraging to hear. No doubt you are better educated than the fanatics,” Stiger growled. This conversation was familiar ground. He had had similar conversations with Father Griggs.

“Better educated than the absolutists,” Father Thomas said with a wry nod. “Oh, heavens yes. As you are most likely aware, those of my order spend years in study and training.”

“I expect, like Father Griggs, you will respect disparate beliefs and practices?” Stiger looked over at the paladin for assurance. “You will not attempt to force religion on my men and me?”

“Heavens no,” Father Thomas replied, amused. “Belief is a choice, as is the decision to practice.”

Stiger said nothing, but nodded. Nomad nudged his arm again, and the captain began scratching the horse’s neck affectionately.

“I am, however, available to those who desire my counsel and spiritual direction,” Father Thomas added. “I may also, from time to time, nudge those I believe faithful and in need of my services.”

“Such as offering to conduct a sinner’s ritual?” Stiger asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I am pleased we understand each other so well,” Father Thomas replied enthusiastically, a sly smile playing across his face, “and to think, with such understanding we may even one day call each other a friend.”

Stiger had to chuckle at that one. Father Thomas was a likeable sort. The problem was that Stiger had also liked Father Griggs. Would it end up the same way?

“Perhaps we do understand each other,” Stiger replied, as they started up yet another hill.

***

Eli had emerged from the forest with news on Vrell. He advised a halt. The company had been marching for eight days since the assault on the bandit camp. In that time, Eli and his scouts had located two additional bandit camps. Both had been abandoned for some time. The camps looked, for the most part, undisturbed since the day the bandits had left. Stiger had never seen anything like it. It was as if the bandits had just up and left, leaving everything of value behind. Eli had been unable to find any useful clues.

They managed to salvage some equipment and supplies from the camps, but not much. It was an interesting mystery. Why had they left? Where had the bandits gone? It was unlikely they went deeper into the forest. Had they gone to Vrell? There was just no way to tell.

Column halted, the men fell out of ranks. Shields in their coverings were carefully rested against trees before the tired legionaries dropped to the ground along both sides of the road. It was near enough lunchtime that many of the legionaries began to rummage through their haversacks. Between Cook and the scouts’ foraging, the men had enough to eat.

Stiger sent word for Lieutenant Ikely and both sergeants to join them, to hear what Eli had to report on Vrell. They arrived shortly, along with Father Thomas. Each was dusty, sweaty and weary. The hard pace was beginning to take its toll. His men were wearing down. Thankfully, the hard march out was almost over.

It was concerning that he had been led to believe that there would be great resistance along the road. There had been virtually none. The road could have been easily opened at any time. It was not like General Kromen did not have the strength to keep the road open. Even the small rebel force that had been operating in the area could easily have been brushed aside. So why had it not been done? Stiger was very troubled by this.

“Castle Vrell is ten miles distant,” Eli reported, when everyone had gathered around. “The castle is in a very formidable position, easily blocking the pass into the valley. I do not in the slightest jest when I tell you a handful could hold the pass against an army.”

“That impressive, huh?” Stiger asked. He was curious to see this fortification. There had been good number in the North, and Stiger had been impressed with their size and scope. He wondered how Castle Vrell compared.

“It is of dwarven construction,” Eli added.

“I had always thought there were no such things as dwarves,” Ikely said. Eli simply gave Ikely a flat look.

“What does that mean for us?” Stiger asked.

“We all need to be aware there is the very real probability of a dwarven kingdom somewhere nearby,” Eli stated matter-of-factly. “Dwarves prefer to live in the mountains. Well, under them, actually. Though I must admit, it is entirely possible that such a kingdom is no more and all that remains is their labor. It has long been understood amongst my people that dwarves are few in number these days.”

“Are they dangerous?” Ikely asked.

“They were once renowned for their ability and tenaciousness on the battlefield,” Eli said. “I have heard it said that the dwarves fielded some of the most feared heavy infantry ever to march.”

“If there is a dwarven kingdom around, do you think there is a chance we might encounter them?” Stiger asked.

“That is difficult to say,” Eli answered, after a moment’s consideration. “I think it is unlikely. Long ago, the dwarves retreated from the wider world. Should there prove to be a kingdom nearby, I rather suspect that since humans have long occupied the valley and castle, they will probably ignore us as they have been ignoring everyone else.

“If we do meet them,” Eli continued, “it is best to understand that dwarves are a difficult and proud people. They value their personal honor, which they call their life’s legend, very highly. From what I understand, dwarven honor is somewhat complex. Only the clan’s honor is more important than the individual’s. They could prove troublesome if affronted.”

“So basically, don’t offend them?” Stiger asked. Eli nodded in confirmation.

“Have you ever met a dwarf?” Ranl asked, not as a challenge, but with sincere curiosity.

“No,” Eli admitted. “I have never had the pleasure of being introduced.”

“Then how do you know they exist?” Ikely asked.

“I was present when emissaries from one of their kingdoms were presented to the Elantric Warden,” Eli responded simply. “I was a child at the time.”

Stiger shook his head, wondering who or what the Elantric Warden was. “Alright,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall any further discourse on the subject. Given an opportunity, Eli could go on for hours. “If Eli says dwarves exist, then they exist. After having seen the monument to the 13
^th
, I believe they exist. What of Castle Vrell?”

“The imperial standard flies from the castle’s ramparts,” Eli reported. “There are no patrols beyond the main gate, and no evidence of any occurring recently.”

“Did you make contact with the garrison?” Stiger asked.

“I sent in Witchell and Bran,” Eli answered, naming two of his scouts. “Both were admitted; however, they failed to come out.”

“What about the rest?” Stiger asked. He had given specific instructions on how to handle contact with the garrison. With how he had been dispatched on this mission and what with the paladin joining them, he was worried about what waited at Vrell.

“As ordered, I was careful not to let any of the garrison see myself or the other scouts,” Eli explained. “The garrison were led to believe that the scouts were an advance party sent to make contact and report back.”

“Then they were supposed to come out?” Ikely asked, looking between Stiger and Eli.

“Yes,” Eli answered, a disturbed look passing across his youthful face. It took a lot to bother Eli. He had grown close to his scouts. “They were to report that there was nothing amiss within the garrison. They did not return in the agreed-upon two hours. We waited seven hours.”