Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) (10 page)

“Captain,” Lieutenant Lan said as he pulled himself up onto his horse. His charge was rapidly getting away. The cavalry lieutenant remained a moment to offer a salute, with a lopsided, youthful grin. “Thank you for your hospitality and the quick meal. I am confident I speak for my men that it is greatly appreciated.”

“You are more than welcome to visit for a longer stay,” Stiger responded with a return salute, “and break bread with us once again.”

“I believe I might take you up on your offer, sir,” Lieutenant Lan said. “We are scheduled for perimeter patrol tomorrow. Would it be convenient if we called toward the end of our circuit?”

“It would,” Stiger agreed. “I will speak with Cook and make sure we have something fresh.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Lan said with a genuine smile. He wheeled his horse around and kicked her forward out of the camp. Once beyond the gate, he sent his horse into a gallop to catch up with his men and charge.

Stiger watched for a moment, thinking about Mammot, Kromen and Vrell. He wondered where Colonel Karol stood with the change of command and power struggle that appeared to be well under way. The colonel had seemed like an honorable man. Stiger found it interesting that Captain Handi had not mentioned the colonel.

“Seems like a right good officer, that cavalryman,” Sergeant Ranl commented. Stiger nodded in agreement, hoping the Sergeant’s instincts were right, for though in general he disliked the cavalry, he felt the same way.

Eight

“Begin again,” Stiger barked harshly. The rain, driven by a goodly wind, was coming down in near sheets.

“Lock shields right!” Sergeant Ranl thundered, standing behind one file, which was facing another in the downpour.

“Lock shield left!” Sergeant Blake roared. He was standing behind the opposite file of men.

Shields snapped and thunked solidly together as the two files of men prepared to clash with each other yet again.

“Push!” Sergeant Blake roared.

“Push ‘em, boys!” Sergeant Ranl thundered. The two files slammed together with a resounding crash. The sergeants shouted orders as each file attempted to break the other’s line by using their shields and brute strength. It was an old, time-tested drill that was good practice, and fun, despite the driving rain. Not only did such contests boost morale, it prepared the men for the real thing. The competition made a tremendous clamor as practice shields hammered violently and repeatedly against each other. The ground on the practice field outside the main gate had been churned up. The mud was ankle deep, making the contest that much more difficult. Stiger believed in training his men under all types of weather conditions, for sometimes battles were fought when conditions were far from ideal.

The captain watched closely as each file fought the other for dominance. The contest was rough, brutal and aggressive. That evening, there would be plenty of nursing lumps and bruises.

Sergeant Blake’s file abruptly and without warning broke into two parts as a man slipped and fell into the churned-up mud. The winners let loose a terrific cheer, followed closely by the rest of the company that had been watching the contest.

These two files had bested all of the others, and the winners were champions for the day. There was no prize. They were simply the best, and in that they took pride. There were good-natured back slaps and ribbing from both sides.

“Lieutenant,” Stiger called over the rain, after the cheering and celebration had died down. Dusk was fast approaching and with the help of the rain clouds, the day was darkening rapidly. “Dismiss the men for the evening.”

“Yes sir,” the drenched lieutenant said.

Stiger turned and walked back through the camp’s gate, as Ikely dismissed the company. The sentry on duty snapped to attention and saluted as he passed. Returning the salute with a nod, Stiger walked rapidly to the farmhouse. The rain was chilly and cold. Stiger wanted nothing more than to dry off and warm up.

The warmth of the house washed over him as he entered. He had left a fire blazing in the fireplace. It had burned low, but was still crackling happily at the remains of two logs. The fireplace provided the only light in the dusk-darkened house, made blacker by the rain. The captain threw on another two logs, which caused the fire to spit and flare in a shower of sparks. Stiger removed his boots and placed them by the fireplace to dry, then stripped off his drenched tunic and pants. Unlike his men, he had not been wearing his armor. He pulled on a dry pair before dragging a chair over to the fireplace to hang his wet clothing. He lit two fat candles, which he placed on the table with an oil lamp hanging above. The room brightened considerably.

On the table, a map was stretched out, corners held down by a couple of small river rocks. The map was old. It had not been a quick reproduction made by some camp scribe. Reproductions could be unreliable, as camp scribes were few in number and overworked. They were usually rushed, and known to omit details. Having an original map depicting an accurate lay of the land was a rare treasure.

The map had arrived by courier that morning, courtesy of General Mammot. Stiger leaned over the table and traced the road to Castle Vrell with his finger. Someone had penciled in the location of the legionary encampment. There were a couple of villages marked along the road to Vrell. Based upon his meeting with Generals Kromen and Mammot, Stiger doubted he would find any villagers. It was likely both villages had been thoroughly sacked. Ashes and shallow graves were all that likely remained. Coming south, Stiger had passed a number of small villages and towns, pillaged and burned, devoid of life. The empire punished rebellion harshly.

Stiger sighed and took a seat, studying the map. The silence from Castle Vrell was telling. Either the rebels were besieging the castle, which would mean they had a substantial force operating in the area, or they had simply cut the road. The latter was the more likely scenario. According to the map, there were no roads leading from Castle Vrell further south into rebel territory.

Stiger returned his gaze to the castle, which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, built astride a mountain pass leading into the valley. He supposed, prior to the empire swallowing up much of the south, a local lord had built the castle for his own protection. The castle then would be old, likely very old. If the walls were poorly maintained, he considered the possibility that a small rebel force might have stormed and overcome the garrison. Having seen the legionaries of the main encampment, the captain could only imagine what condition the garrison was in.

The Vrell valley boasted a few towns and villages. Oakheart, the largest town, was notated on the map. A few other settlements were named, but the only other feature that caught Stiger’s eye was not in the valley itself, but on one of the mountains on the north end of the valley: Thanedom Mountain. It was an odd name. After considering it for a bit, the captain supposed one of the long-dead lords of the valley had named the mountain as his own or some such nonsense.

The captain sighed deeply and took a seat. His chair creaked alarmingly as he leaned back. Could the rebels have taken the castle? Was it simply that the road had been cut? The questions were maddening.

In the North, Stiger had relied heavily on Eli’s detailed knowledge of the ground. But in all of the elf’s long years, his friend had never been this far south. Eli knew nothing about the ground. Stiger had asked for someone who was familiar with the ground and Vrell. General Mammot had provided the map, but had not yet produced anyone who had been to Vrell, which was troubling. Was he setting Stiger up for failure? It certainly felt that way.

An entire legion had once disappeared in this area. Every legionary knew of the 13
^th
, subsequently known as the Vanished. The 13
^th
had been led by a great general and man, Delvaris. It had occurred when the empire had first decided to expand into the wild, untamed lands of the South. There were rumors, speculations and legends. Yet no one knew for sure what had happened. The legion had been the first to march south, and had simply disappeared into the vast southern forests, as if by magic. Many had gone in search of the 13
^th
’s eagle, the symbol of the empire, but none had ever found it. Over three hundred years later, the mystery of the Vanished was no closer to being solved, and had since become legend.

With the loss of the 13
^th
, the Delvaris family reputation, prestige and influence had subsequently been ruined. Unfortunately, the captain had a personal connection to the story. Ben Stiger was a direct descendent, on his mother’s side, of General Delvaris. Though General Delvaris was a distant relative, the entire affair was also a black mark on the Stiger family history.

Stiger rubbed his eyes, tired. There was a hard knock on the doorframe, jarring him from his contemplations. Despite the cold, Stiger had left the door open. He enjoyed hearing the sound of the rain. He found it relaxing.

“Yes?” Stiger asked, looking up.

“Sorry to bother you, sir. I thought you would like to know Lieutenant Lan’s patrol is coming in,” Corporal Kennet reported. Stiger had recently approved ten men for promotion to corporal. A week later, it appeared that his sergeants had made good recommendations. Yet the true test of their worth would ultimately come with battle.

“Thank you. Have their horses put up in the barn,” Stiger ordered. “See that his men get fed and are allowed to dry out somewhere. When the Lieutenant is ready, please escort him over.”

“Yes sir,” the corporal responded, and left.

Stiger leaned back in his chair, contemplating the lieutenant. This was his fifth visit to their camp in as many weeks. Each visit had only lasted a few hours, as the troop took a break from their patrolling. Lan was from a good, though moderately prosperous family from the province of Venney. The family was known for their exquisite wines, which they produced and shipped throughout the empire.

There was another knock at the door. Stiger looked up to find the lieutenant. The man was dripping wet and looking a tad bit miserable, but proud.

“Lieutenant,” Stiger greeted, without getting up. “Nice to see you again. I trust that, despite the rain, you had a quiet patrol?”

“Lieutenant Lan,” the lieutenant said formally, stepping into the room. He drew himself up to attention and saluted. “Reporting for duty as ordered.” Dripping water on the roughhewn wood floor, the lieutenant reached inside his overcoat and withdrew a set of orders. He handed them over for Stiger to examine.

“I see,” Stiger said, retrieving the orders, which were slightly damp. He glanced them over. The lieutenant and his troop of cavalry had been detached from their current patrol assignments and attached to Stiger’s command for the duration of the supply run to Vrell.

“I understand that you requested us personally,” the lieutenant stated.

“That’s right,” Stiger said, grabbing a mug on the table. He poured himself some tea from a pot that had long since cooled. At the time, Stiger had doubted that General Mammot would approve his request. Perhaps the general suspected that Stiger was reporting his activities to the senate. That might also explain the delivery of an original map instead of a camp copy. Mammot might be giving Stiger everything he requested to avoid any type of bad report. It was an intriguing line of thought. If true, Stiger wondered what else he might request.

“May I ask why? There are other cavalry troops in the encampment.”

“I know you,” Stiger said simply, taking a slow sip. “I do not know the other troop commanders. Your men respect you, which in my experience speaks well. I also think you show promise.”

“I see, sir,” the lieutenant said, without betraying any emotion.

“Did the general inform you of our mission?” Stiger asked.

“No sir,” the lieutenant answered. “I did not actually speak with the general himself. Captain Handi delivered my orders.”

Stiger simply nodded, satisfied that the mission was still a secret. If the rebels found out what they were up to, things might get ugly.

“However, sir,” the lieutenant added after a moment, “I must admit … word around the encampment is that your company has been tasked with escorting the next supply train to Castle Vrell and opening that road.”

Stiger slammed a fist down on the table in irritation and the lieutenant jumped slightly. If word had gotten around the encampment, then it was likely the rebels knew as well. Damn!

“That is correct,” Stiger said after a moment, getting himself under control. “What do you know of the road to Vrell?”

“A solid road,” the lieutenant reported. “It was repaired a few years ago by imperial engineers. A wagon train should have no real problem, but …”

“But what?” Stiger asked as the lieutenant trailed off.

“It is not a particularly safe road. It is heavily forested, with plenty of places to hide,” the lieutenant explained. “I was on the last supply run about six months ago. We took an entire company of cavalry to ensure the train made it.”

“Did you?” Stiger asked, leaning forward. Here was his man with direct personal experience of the road to Vrell and the castle. Stiger had requested an interview with someone who knew the land. General Mammot had delivered once again. Interesting.

“Yes, though at the cost of ninety men,” the lieutenant said with some anger heating his voice.

“How many rebels were killed in exchange?” Stiger asked.

“That we know of,” Lan answered, hesitating slightly. “We were only able to locate two bodies.”

“Two?” Stiger asked with some surprise.

“Yes,” the lieutenant answered. “The rebels hid like cowards, ambushing the column with archers and then melting back into the trees.”

Stiger’s eyes narrowed. “So there were no standup fights? Only ambushes?”

“Correct,” the lieutenant answered grimly, with a worried look. “To be frank, I do not relish the idea of making the journey back to Vrell.”

Stiger pushed himself back from the table, stood, and began pacing the room, thinking furiously. The road was mostly forested. A handful of good men could have made life hell for a slow moving supply train escorted exclusively by cavalry. Stiger had seen it done in the forests of Abath. He looked back at the map. A small force. It had to be a small force. He was more convinced of that than ever. Had the rebels had a substantial force, they would have easily taken the train after having whittled down the escort.

Stiger stopped pacing and glanced over at the lieutenant as a thought occurred to him. The lieutenant’s troop had been one of the few noticeably active units he had seen in the south. Studying the young man, who shifted uncomfortably under his steel-eyed gaze, Stiger suddenly knew with certainty that the lieutenant was out of favor. Mammot had not given him this troop from the goodness of his heart. The lieutenant was active because they had been pulling all of the shit assignments. General Mammot had probably jumped at the opportunity to rid himself of another trouble officer.

“Lieutenant,” Stiger said abruptly. “I’ve noticed your men and animals are always clean. Why is that the case when everyone else in the encampment appears to be covered in mud and shit?”

“I insist my men care for themselves and their mounts,” the lieutenant stated firmly, and then added, “It also helps that we are stationed at a small village two miles from the encampment.”

“Exiled?” Stiger asked, knowing the answer even before the lieutenant confirmed with a curt nod. They had thought to isolate Lan from camp society as punishment, but in doing so had inadvertently spared him and his men from the rot and disease.