Other Books by Marc Alan Edelheit.

Chronicles of a Legionary Officer:

Book One: Stiger’s Tigers

Book Two: The Tiger

Book Three: The Tiger’s Fate

Book Four: The Tiger’s Time

Book Five: The Tiger’s Wrath

Book Six: The Tiger’s Imperium

Book Seven: The Tiger’s Fight

Book Eight: The Tiger’s Rage (Coming 2023)

Tales of the Seventh:

Part One: Stiger

Part Two: Fort Covenant

Part Three: A Dark Foretoken

Part Four: The Kingdom of Thresh (Coming 2024)

The Karus Saga:

Book One: Lost Legio IX

Book Two: Fortress of Radiance

Book Three: The First Compact

Book Four: Rapax Pax

Book Four: Brothers of the Line (Coming 2024)

A Ranger’s Tale:

Part One: Eli

Part Two: By Bow, Daggers, & Sword

Part Three: Lutha Nyx (October, 2023)

Born of Ash:

Book One: Fallen Empire

Book Two: Infinity Control

Book Three: Rising Phoenix (Coming 2024)

The Way of Legend: With Quincy J. Allen

Book One: Reclaiming Honor

Book Two: Forging Destiny

Book Three: Paladin’s Light

Guardians of the Dark

Book One: Off Midway Station (Coming 2024)

Nonfiction:

Every Writer’s Dream: The Insider’s Path to an Indie Bestseller

Reviews keep me motivated and also help to drive sales. I make a point to read each and every one, so please continue to post them.

Author’s note:

Writing The Tiger’s Fight has been a labor of love, joy, and a lot of fun. I am excited to share this next action-packed and exciting chapter in Stiger’s adventures. It is my sincere hope that you love it as I do.

I also want to take a moment to thank you for reading and keeping me employed as a full-time writer. For those of you who reach out to me on Facebook, Twitter, or by email, I simply cannot express how humbling it is, as an author, to have my work so appreciated and loved. From the bottom of my heart … thank you.

You can reach out and connect with me on:

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You can follow me on Amazon through my Author Page. Smash that follow button under my picture and you will be notified by Amazon whenever I have a new release.

Again, I hope you enjoy The Tiger’s Fight and would like to offer a sincere thank you for your purchase and support.

Best regards,

Marc Alan Edelheit, your author and tour guide to the worlds of Tannis and Istros

The Stiger Chronicles

Originally Published as
Chronicles of an Imperial Legionary Officer

Book 7

THE TIGER’S FIGHT

BY
Marc Alan Edelheit

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Tiger’s Fight: The Stiger Chronicles Book 7. (Originally Titled: Chronicles of an Imperial Legionary Officer)

First Edition

Copyright © 2023 by Marc Edelheit.

WGA Registration #: 2208035

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

I wish to thank my agent, Andrea Hurst, for her invaluable support and assistance. I would also like to thank my beta readers, who suffered through several early drafts. My betas: Steve Koratsky, Tim Adams, Marshall Clowers, Paul Klebaur, William Schnippert, David Cheever, Erin Penny, Sheldon Levy, Walker Graham, Jimmy McAfee, Joel Rainey, James H. Bjorum, Sally Tingley-Walker, Tom Trudeau, James Doak, Nathan Hildebrand, Jeremy Craig, Bradley Renfro, Tom Moore, Jacob Turner, Michael Brown, Lamarr Kelley, Dragos Emil Ramniceanu, Kieran Maisonet, Lance Dahl, Lee Adrian, Brian Thomas, Ed Speight, Rusty Juban. I would also like to take a moment to thank my loving wife, who sacrificed many an evening and weekend to allow me to work on my writing.

Editing Assistance by Hannah Streetman, Brandon Purcell, Audrey Mackaman

Cover Art by Piero Mng (Gianpiero Mangialardi)

Cover Formatting by Telemachus Press

Agented by Andrea Hurst & Associates

http://maenovels.com/

Excerpt from Thelius’s Histories, The Mal’Zeelan Empire, Volume 3, Book 2.

The Mal’Zeelan
Imperial Legion

Pre-Emperor Midisian Reformation

The imperial legion was a formation that numbered, when at full strength, 5,500 to 6,000 men. The legion was composed of heavy infantry recruited exclusively from the citizens of the empire. Slaves and non-citizens were prohibited from serving. The legion was divided into ten cohorts of 480 men, with First Cohort, being an overstrength unit, numbering around a thousand. A legion usually included a mix of engineers, surgeons, and various support staff. Legions were always accompanied by allied auxiliary formations, ranging from cavalry to various forms of light infantry. The imperial legion was commanded by a legate (general).

The basic unit of the legion was the century, numbering eighty men in strength. There were six centuries in a cohort. A centurion (basic officer) commanded the century. The centurion was supported by an optio (equivalent of a corporal) who handled minor administrative duties. Both had to be capable of reading and performing basic math.

Note: Very rarely were legions ever maintained at full strength. This was due primarily to the following reasons: retirement, death, disability, budget shortages (graft), and the slow stream of replacements.

The most famous legion was the Thirteenth, commanded by Legate …

Post-Emperor Midisian Reformation

Emperor Midiuses’s reforms were focused on streamlining the legions and cutting cost through the elimination of at least half of the officer corps per legion, amongst other changes.

The basic unit of the legion became the company, numbering around 200 men in strength. There were ten twenty-man files per company. A captain commanded the company. The captain was supported by a lieutenant, two sergeants, and a corporal per file.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

How to Connect with Marc & More

Prologue

With his midnight-black priestly robes whispering across the stone flooring, Gaelix moved down the broad, lantern-lit corridor. The floor was polished white marble, the walls plastered over with frescos.

The frescos depicted scenes of daily life, a romanticized view of a peasant’s way of living. The peasants were shown planting crops, fishing, drawing water from a fountain, the list went on. It represented nothing of the hardships, the realities of the daily grind for the less fortunate, the suffering and back-breaking work for men who built palaces such as the one he walked through. Gaelix considered the scenes as he passed and felt only disgust for anyone with such a rose-colored view on life.

At his side walked his chief aide, Veckle’ast Ma, a priest of the Golden Bow, the second highest level in their divine order.

“Are you certain we should disturb him?” Veckle asked, shooting Gaelix a sidelong glance as they continued down the hallway, their steps echoing hollowly back at them. “With all that is happening, this hardly seems the time to break such news.”

Gaelix did not respond. Turning a corner, they came upon a pair of guards posted to either side of the broad white-marble-tiled corridor. Each wore chainmail armor and was armed with a sword and shield. Both snapped to positions of attention. Like the frescos, Gaelix barely noticed them as they swept by.

“Is it not wiser to let someone else perform this task?” Veckle asked. “It might prove healthier—perhaps.”

Gaelix came to a stop before a wide unshuttered window. It let in not only light, but fresh air, along with the strong salty tang of the sea. The window looked out onto an elaborate private garden, a large one, that was completely enclosed by walls.

The garden was filled with morning sunshine, flowers, and exquisitely manicured grounds. A delicate-looking fountain with a round pool was set directly in the middle of the garden. The centerpiece was an incredibly lifelike white alabaster swan. It spat water forth from its beak, up into the air, before the stream fell into the pool below, making a pleasant pattering sound.

Gaelix stepped around his aide and placed his hands upon the marble windowsill. Sun falling upon his face, he took a moment to gaze outward at the garden. This grand structure had once been a vacation home, a villa, for an imperial senator, one of the wealthiest men in the empire. The man had lived a privileged and pampered life. The opulence and grandeur of the villa was proof of that. And like so many other imperials, he was now dead, as was most of his family. Gaelix had personally seen to that.

The villa had become not only a military headquarters, but also a spiritual one. The garden, Gaelix supposed, was beautiful, as was the finery of the palace. It did not move him in the slightest. He cared not for such things. All Gaelix felt was disgust and disdain for those who did. The villa was but evidence of a decadent and spoiled society filled with terrible iniquity, one that was ripe for toppling.

He shivered slightly as a cool wind blew into the corridor. The winter was upon Asti and though it wasn’t as harsh here in the south, many of the plants and flowers had lost their leaves and withered, as if he were in the north.

Gaelix had never seen snow and was told it rarely fell in Asti, but this was clearly a sign, a subtle warning of what lay farther to the north. Already, the air was chill and at night it had an uncomfortable bite to it.

In the days and months ahead, when they left this city behind, the weather would surely cause the army difficulties, for they were a southern people. In their homeland, the weather became so warm during the height of summer, one could fry an egg on exposed stone.

At his side, Veckle shifted his stance. He was clearly uncomfortable with the lack of response from his master. After a moment’s more silence, Gaelix sucked in a breath of the fresh air and turned his gaze upon his aide.

“Are you suggesting I send someone else in my stead?”

Clasping his hands before him, Veckle licked his lips.

“That is an interesting proposition,” Gaelix continued. “Perhaps you might wish to volunteer for such a duty?”

Veckle’s eyes went wide. The aide’s mouth opened and closed, then opened once more, as if he were trying to think of the best way to reply while at the same time hanging onto his own skin. The reaction both amused and disgusted Gaelix as Veckle worked up the courage to respond. Instead of allowing that to happen, Gaelix felt a stab of pity and decided to beat him to it by raising a hand in warning.

“Don’t answer that, for any such response might lessen my opinion of you, which was already low to begin with.”

“It’s just that this news is not the most pleasing,” Veckle stammered. He glanced down the corridor in the direction they had been headed. “It is a blow to be sure and complicates the Great Plan.” Veckle licked his lips again. “He is also not the most tolerant when it comes to receiving news the likes of which we bear. There is—ah, how to say it—his temper to consider. When roused it can be a frightful thing.”

That, Gaelix knew, was true. Giving a grudging nod, he turned abruptly away from the window and continued down the corridor, this time at a brisker pace. Caught by surprise, Veckle hastened to catch up.

“The news I bear is not the best,” Gaelix admitted after Veckle fell in at his side. “If I dispatch a surrogate to break it, I display weakness. That I cannot afford, especially before him. Besides, I have nothing to fear, even if he decides to vent his anger upon me. Valoor will provide, for I have lived a life dedicated wholly to service. There is nothing more pure for those of the faith.”

“Of course,” Veckle said, assuming a contrite tone. “I should have considered that.”

“Yes,” Gaelix admitted. “You should have. Besides, I am also the bearer of good news.”

Turning a corner, they came to a set of double doors, which appeared thick and heavy, with large black iron rings set around chest height. The wood facings had been carved into intricate geometric patterns. Two Elites stood guard just before the doors.

Signifying their exalted station amongst the soldiers of the Cyphan Confederacy, the slaves wore bronze collars about their necks. There were none more feared than the Elites, for their fighting prowess was unmatched on the battlefield. Not only were they highly trained, they were wholly dedicated to the cause, their faith, and without a moment’s thought, would willingly die, making the ultimate sacrifice in service of their god.

Some claimed they were without fear, but Gaelix knew that to be false. Both slaves respectfully snapped to attention and stared at invisible points in space beyond the two priests.

“Open it,” Gaelix commanded and in response, one turned and, without a word, grabbed the thick iron ring on the left door. He pulled, the muscles on his arm bugling with the strain, then the massive door began to open. The hinges creaked loudly in protest. Once it was fully open, the Elite stood aside and returned to attention.

Inside was a spacious room with broad windows, all of which were shuttered. A few lines of sunlight leaked through the shutters. They did little to lighten the room. Gaelix turned to his companion. “Veckle, do me the honor of grabbing a lantern.”

Veckle did as he was bid and took one of the metal lanterns from its hook on the wall in the corridor. He rejoined Gaelix and held it up as they stepped past both guards and into the room. The lantern was an isolated pool of light, shining outward, pushing back against the darkness. It revealed a spacious room bare of furniture or any other sort of decoration.

A single individual was present. Wearing only a simple black tunic and sandals, he sat cross-legged in the center of the room facing them. His eyes were closed as if in meditation. Only, Gaelix knew he was not meditating.

In the shape of a pentagram, a large ward had been carefully painted on the floor around the man. Barely emitting any light, the ward glowed ever so softly. Gaelix could feel the power radiating before him. It came from both the man and the pentagram and caused the small hairs on his arms to stand on end.

Additional lines and arcane runes had been chalked within the pentagram. Those too glowed. Gaelix studied them for a long moment, recognizing the shape and meaning of most. Any who were not welcome would die a horrible death if they attempted to breach the ward.

Quite deliberately, Gaelix stepped over the outer line of the pentagram. Nothing happened. He was not struck down. Veckle, however, did not join him but had instead hung back by the door. Gaelix was not surprised by that, for the other priest was not welcome and he well knew it.

The light from the lantern began to flicker, shooting shadows about the room. Gaelix looked back and saw Veckle’s hand, the one holding the lantern, trembling violently.

“Light the other lanterns,” Gaelix spat. Had it not been for his skill as a clerk and administrator, Veckle would likely have remained an itinerant priest for some obscure village or isolated town, a veritable nobody amidst the confederacy’s teeming masses. “I need not tell you to mind the lines of the pentagram, do I?”

Veckle did not reply, but instead produced a stubby blue candle from within his robes. With fingers that trembled, he lit it, set the lantern on the floor, and then moved about the room, carefully lighting one hanging lantern after another, until all seven burned and the room was filled with yellow light.

When finished, with the lit candle still in hand, he returned to his original position and stared, in what could only be described as horror, at the man sitting on the floor. Sweat beading his forehead and hands trembling, Veckle did not even seem to notice the hot wax dripping upon his fingers.

“Leave us.” Gaelix hardened his tone. “Attend to that task we spoke on earlier. See that it is done properly.”

“As you command.” Veckle turned and hastily left, almost as if he was fleeing. The sense of relief from the other priest was not only plain but quite strong. Gaelix watched unhappily as the priest shut the door behind him. It closed with a hollow booming sound that echoed around the bare room.

“Why do you tolerate that weak-kneed fool?”

Gaelix returned his gaze to the man sitting on the floor, who was now looking up at him. Those gray eyes were colder than winter ice. For a moment, the old priest shivered mentally, then steeled his nerves for what was to come.

“Weak in spirit and courage he may be, but the man has his uses, my lord,” Gaelix replied evenly, “ones I find indispensable, especially now that the Great Campaign has begun. Were I to lose his services, my job would become more challenging, and I think we can both agree I do not need that, not at the moment.”

The man gave a grunt. “Why have you disturbed me?”

“I bring news, my Lord Veers,” Gaelix said.

“Obviously of the bad kind,” Veers replied, to which Gaelix inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “You would not have disturbed me otherwise.”

“Where were you just now?” Gaelix asked.

“A deflection?” Veers seemed suddenly amused. “Coming from you? Really?”

“Nothing more than an honest question,” Gaelix countered. “It will not immediately change my news or the underlying problem with which we are now faced. So, tell me, my lord, where were you?”

“I was with our allies, the Castol.” Veers’s tone reeked with open disgust. He spat their name as if it were a curse.

“And how goes that venture?” Gaelix was genuinely interested, for he had been deeply involved in the planning of the operation, which had taken years.

“As expected, their army is marching on the imperial capital.” Like an uncoiling snake, Veers uncrossed his legs and slowly stood. With a hand he straightened out his tunic. “They are quite confident they can crush the newly raised imperial army that is even now moving to counter their thrust from the far north.”

“And what do you think, my lord?” Gaelix asked.

“The Castol are overconfident and overbearing. Their king is an insufferable fool who thinks he is a second coming of Orisesome. That I must flatter his ego, cater to his demands, swallow my tongue, is almost too much to bear. But”—Veers waved a dismissive hand in the air—“they are marching to the fight and that is all that matters, even if they are dragging their feet about it.”

Gaelix felt a stab of amusement. “Though it may prove to be a test of will, I am certain you are up to the task of handling that simple-minded fool.”

“Tell me why I tolerate your insolence,” Veers asked, his intent gaze still fixed upon Gaelix.

“Because you like me,” Gaelix said without a hint of a smile. “I’m useful. I am also your oldest friend, if you can have such a thing in your current station. We both came from nothing. Valoor raised us up.”

“There is that,” Veers conceded, “but you forgot something.”

“And what is that?” Gaelix asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No matter how disagreeable or insolent you become, you always speak truth to me. There are few these days who will chance it.”

Gaelix inclined his head slightly at the near compliment. “I consider speaking the truth being useful. I am pleased you find me so.”

“Emperor Lehr is dead,” Veers said suddenly, “which is a pity, but something that was not completely unforeseen. He was a blind fool, and it was inevitable that someone would have killed him in the end. Despite the setback of his loss, Handi performed his service to our great lord well, very well … The empire teeters on the edge of a precipice of our making and is on the verge of collapse.”

“Yet another insufferable individual for you to contend with, my lord,” Gaelix said, “but Handi is no fool and will prove useful to our cause.”

“He too has completed his service to the great Lord.”

Gaelix felt no sadness at the man’s passing, startlement perhaps, but no real distress, just regret. “He was a good agent. It will be difficult to find someone as effective to replace him.”

“No doubt you will manage,” Veers said.

“No doubt. How did he die?”

“That bastard Stiger killed him and then crowned himself emperor. The Champion of the High Father is now leading the empire, something we did not want, at least not yet. Now, it is only a matter of time before he gains control of Mechlehnus, his army, and the senate.”

“This Mechlehnus,” Gaelix said, “my reports tell me he is an experienced general, one with a record of success in the field. I am told he is a soldier at heart. He was the one sent to confront the Castol? How could Handi allow that to come to pass?”

“It was an accommodation with the senate,” Veers said. “The senators were demanding an experienced field commander. Handi suggested Mechlehnus and I approved. It saw the replacement of Stiger’s father as general, which was a step in the right direction. Marcus Stiger is a scourge on the battlefield. Still, the actions we took all made sense at the time—until Stiger showed up.”

“And Stiger may just put his father back in command of the army.”

“He might,” Veers said. “Both men are dangerous. Regardless of what happens, hard days lie ahead. We always knew that. And now, we know the enemy has dragons of their own, both aratalum and noctalum, and a coalition of races. It is the dragons that are the concern, the real danger to our army. To be safe, I have dispatched a flight of wyrms to help the Castol.”

“Another flight?” Gaelix asked, feeling pained at the news. His tone hinted at a slight rebuke. “Can we afford to spare them?”

“No,” Veers said, sounding none too happy. “I am well aware our supply of those creatures is finite. Still, we need the Castol to bleed the empire white and without such protection the enemy’s dragons will surely savage their army. That is something we cannot afford either.”

“True,” Gaelix admitted.

“The enemy has two main armies, one of which is marching north from Lorium. We need to crush one before they can combine their strength, and with the Castol, this is our chance.” Veers glanced down at his feet a moment. “I did not expect the Vass to have taken an interest in events, bringing with them their dragons. They and the noctalum have made our task much more challenging.”

“Anything done right is not easy,” Gaelix said. “You know that.”

“Still,” Veers said, “with Stiger’s problems in the capital, we can only hope he is forced to remain there and not take charge personally. I have put plans in motion to keep him busy, occupied, and jumping to our tune.”

“Do you think he will replace Mechlehnus with his father?”

“I don’t know,” Veers said and suddenly sounded troubled by that. “He may need his father’s assistance with keeping a lid on things in the capital. I just do not know. But I have taken direct steps to strike at them both as well.”

“Let us hope we find some success there.”

“So,” Veers said, “why have you come? Tell me your news. I would hear it, no matter how disagreeable.”

“It seems the enemy has three armies in the field now,” Gaelix answered without hesitation.

“Three armies, you say?”

“The Vass have landed an army to the far south, at Lintas.”

“What?” Veers asked, his gaze growing more intense. He took a step toward Gaelix. “Their numbers on this world are few, and they live across the Eastern Ocean. Moving an army across such an expanse of water would have been a serious undertaking that would have taken years of preparation and planning. How did they do it without us knowing?”

“We don’t know,” Gaelix admitted. “They are led by two Knights. Both have exceptional power. I have tasted it.”

“There are Knights on this world?” Veers asked, seeming for a moment bewildered. The man took a half step back before his iron discipline reasserted itself. His gaze became hard, granite-like. “She’s taken an interest in Istros.”

Gaelix decided to plow straight ahead. There was no point in cushioning the blow to come. “General Verneen’s army has been destroyed.”

Veers grew still. “Are you certain?”

“Quite certain, my lord. I projected there myself. I saw the aftermath of the battle. The Vass were in command of the field. It is not a large army, several thousand at most, but they are Vass and are not to be taken lightly.”

Veers’s fists clenched in rage. He looked like he wanted to shout, to scream and rage. Gaelix could feel the power mounting within the man before him. It felt like being too close to the flames of a raging bonfire. He almost took a step back himself but resisted that temptation. It took effort to do so.

“Verneen’s mission was a simple one,” Veers hissed. “Take Vrell after Stiger and his dwarven allies have left, and the noctalum were drawn away, then secure the World Gate.” Veers paused as something occurred to him. “Verneen also had a flight of wyrms to support him. What happened to them?”

“I do not yet know,” Gaelix admitted. “There were none in evidence and I did not have time to conduct an extensive search for them. Had I attempted to linger, the Knights might have detected my presence and that could have proven unhealthy. It is possible the wyrms fled or were hunted down and killed.”

“Either way,” Veers said, “the result is the same, another lost flight.”

“I imagine Verneen did not expect to encounter any significant resistance, let alone an army of the Vass and dragons,” Gaelix said.

“How could he?” Veers asked, frustration plain. “All intelligence indicated there were no enemy forces to the south. We cleared everything out, depopulating the land so no threat could emerge. More important, we control the crossing between continents. How could this happen?”

“I don’t even know how they managed to sail into the Narrow Sea without our warships spotting their transport fleet,” Gaelix said. “It is a mystery, but then again, we are talking about the Vass. Anything is possible when it concerns that cursed race.”

“The entire army is lost?”

“Along with one of our most experienced generals.”

Veers appeared for a moment as if he might explode in rage. He paced several steps to the left, then right. With each step the glowing lines of the pentagram on the floor flared in brilliance. He stopped, turning back to face Gaelix. Veers exhaled, the fire suddenly going out of him. Gaelix could feel the power that had been mounting begin to dissipate. He resisted letting out a breath of relief himself. The danger of the moment had passed.

“It can’t be helped now,” Veers said. “We will just have to deal with Vrell later, after I crush Stiger and the empire. We have enough force on hand to do that, especially with the Castol moving down from the north. The tribes to the west have finally begun moving too. We destroy Mechlehnus’s army first, then turn on the second and finish them off. That will bring the empire to its knees.”

“Yesterday our forces took two more imperial cities to the north. They had no defenses other than light militia, and those rolled over easily enough. I understand we seized more than eighty thousand souls between them.”

“That is good to hear. Are the prisoners being prepared for the ritual?” Veers asked.

“Our priests have already begun their work, my lord. Though, with so many, that holy task will take some time—days, weeks even—to complete.”

“No matter,” Veers said. “A soul for a soul. That is the price that must be paid for rebirth of the faithful, and through blood our enemy increases our strength.”

“Better our enemies pay the blood debt than our own people,” Gaelix said. “They grow weaker, while we grow stronger.”

“By the time I crush the empire and Stiger,” Veers said, “we will more than need those souls to fully dominate this world. It will be bloody work on both sides, but our god’s will, in the end, will be done.”

“Do you truly believe it will be that costly?”

“Do you doubt it?” Veers said. “You have studied the empire. This man, Stiger, is dangerous. Look at what he did before Vrell, completely smashing our allies for minimal loss, then crushing our army at Lorium and with only a portion of his army at that. I was there. I saw him in action. I tell you, he is dangerous. Worse, he has formed a powerful coalition of races—dwarves, elves, Vass, gnomes, and dragons. Make no mistake, the days ahead will be filled with blood, but in the end, he will be swamped by our sheer numbers, our power. We will see the destruction of the empire and the falling of the High Father’s Champion on this world.” Veers fell silent for several heartbeats. Terrible frustration crept back into his tone. “But, I cannot do that without the additional supply and transport we were promised. We can only forage so much. As it is, our army is on half rations. Soon it will be a quarter. No matter how devoted to the faith, soldiers can’t fight long on empty stomachs. The fleet should have been here weeks ago. Has there been any word?”

“About that, my lord.” Gaelix resisted a smile. “I am pleased to report the fleet has been sighted. They have arrived with the supply we need.”

Veers turned and went to one of the windows. He unlatched the shutter and threw it wide, letting the bright sunlight flood inward, along with a cold breeze. Gaelix joined him at the window. Before and below them stretched a hillside city that ran down to Asti’s port and the ocean’s edge. Like the villa, the view was simply magnificent.

Out in the harbor and at anchor lay nearly fifty warships, their masts, with sails furled, looking very much like a forest bereft of leaves. Farther out, even more ships dotted the horizon for as far as the eye could see, hundreds. Their sails full, oars out and digging in unison, they seemed to crawl ever so slowly toward the port and the army that had been waiting for it.

“At last,” Veers said with a sense of triumph. He clapped his hands together. “At last—we will be able to make our final move and strike at the heart of the empire. We will fulfill the Oracle’s Prophecy.”

Chapter One

In the middle of the street, Stiger came to a stop and absently placed his hand upon Rarokan’s hilt as he studied what lay ahead. The familiar tingle raced up from his palm, into his arm, and was gone in an instant. He barely noticed it.

“Halt,” Ruga shouted, and with that, the escort ground to a stop. Just behind Stiger were Therik, Restus, and Stiger’s father, Marcus. Eli had come too. Gazing ahead with some interest, they moved up to either side of Stiger.

Ruga, at the front of the procession, turned around and studied their surroundings a moment.

“Sir, there’s quite a crowd forming.” Ruga gestured with a hand as a chill breeze stirred the legionary’s cloak. “With your permission, I will block the street and keep anyone from getting too close.”

Slightly distracted by what lay before them, Stiger glanced first at Ruga and then back the way they had come. The dead-end street was only twenty yards across, with upscale private residences to either side.

Behind the protective screen of Ruga’s thirty men, the street was rapidly filling with excited people, and not just a few either. There were more than a hundred. He supposed, as word spread that the emperor had come down into the city, it would soon grow to hundreds and then possibly thousands.

“Do it,” Stiger said curtly.

Without hesitation, Ruga stepped past Stiger and began shouting to his men. “I want a line, ten yards back, boys, right across the road. No one gets past our line. Snap to it. Let’s get this done, smartly now.”

With armor chinking, the centurion’s men jogged over to the area indicated and began forming the line their officer desired. Ruga went with them.

“Dress yourselves, boys, smartly now. That’s it. Anyone gets too close, you give them a nice, friendly push with your shield … no broken bones, but hard enough to get them to think twice.” There was a pause as the centurion looked over his newly formed line. “Excellent job, boys. Stand easy.”

The men rested the butts of their shields upon the ground.

“It’s good we have an audience,” Stiger’s father said. “Once word spread that you had left the palace, people were bound to come out to see their emperor. And that you’ve come here to pay your respects will only serve to enhance your standing in the people’s eyes.”

His gaze still on the growing crowd, which had moved nearly right up to his escort’s line, Stiger gave an unhappy nod. He’d never liked playing such manipulative games, but there was no choice, not today. What they were doing was necessary. It all came down to respect and honor and, more importantly, tradition.

Stiger’s eyes raked the crowd critically, studying them. People from all walks of life seemed to have come out and into the winter cold, slaves, common laborers, skilled workers, merchants, the wealthy. They were pointing excitedly, talking amongst themselves, calling out their greetings. Some had even fallen to their knees and were offering up a prayer to their god, for Stiger was the High Father’s Champion.

General Treim had made sure to send word about that when he’d sent a courier and agent ahead to the capital. Not only had the senate been informed, but word had been intentionally passed about the city. The idea was to not only give the mob hope, but also strengthen Stiger’s claim, and from what he could see, it was clearly having an effect.

Not only was he emperor, but he was now a religious figure as well. It was something Stiger was not fully comfortable with, not in the slightest. But he understood he would have to grow to accept it.

“I do believe they are excited to see you, Ben,” Eli said.

Stiger glanced over at his friend and bit his lip lightly. He resolved not to take the bait, for it was clear the elf wanted to cause some mischief. Stiger could read it plainly in Eli’s gaze.

“They’ve seen so little of you, Ben,” Eli added. “Perhaps we should take more strolls like this one out and into the city. It might just help keep up morale.”

“A stroll? Is that what you think we are doing here?” Stiger turned to Eli. “Really?”

The elf ignored Stiger’s comment as he wrinkled his nose. “But now that I think on it, Ben, morale aside, if you want some fresh air, perhaps next time we can go for a walk in the countryside or even the Reserve. You remember the forest I took you to … the Reserve … ? That’s the one just outside the city. It is a lovely place, magical even. We elves gave it as a gift to the first emperor. As you are emperor, that technically belongs to you now. You have your own personal forest … ” Eli paused long enough to suck in a breath through his nose. “I declare, it smells like a sewer overflowed.”

Stiger had to agree with that, smell-wise. Though this was an upscale area, it did stink, and terribly too. That was a problem with cities. No matter how good the sanitation, there were so many people packed in tightly together, it simply stank. Eventually you became accustomed to the stench, and then you hardly noticed.

“Now that I think on it,” Eli said, wrinkling his nose, “the forest would be preferable. At least, it would smell better.”

“Venturing out too much into the city is unwise,” Marcus said in a serious tone, “the countryside too.”

“I agree,” Restus said, eyeing the crowd warily. “There are surely enemies about in the city. That this expedition is necessary is the only reason we are here.”

Stiger glanced over at the paladin and wondered if he sensed something from the High Father, some latent threat. Or was it just his opinion? Since Father Restus’s transformation from an old man to one in his prime, he had become very protective of Stiger and his movements.

“Say,” Marcus said, glancing around, “where did that hound of yours go? He was with us just a moment ago. We don’t need him mauling a civilian. That would cause a problem for us.”

Stiger looked around and did not see Dog. “He goes where he pleases but, like the legions, always manages to come back. And you don’t have to worry about him attacking an innocent. He’s probably begging food off someone.”

“Bah, that’s no ordinary hound,” Therik said. “That dog is a killer and much more besides.”

“You think so?” Eli asked. “Whatever was your first clue?”

Flexing his arms and making a strangling motion, Therik turned toward Eli and gave a low, menacing growl.

“Enough,” Stiger snapped. “I’ve got too many headaches without having to deal with such nonsense, especially now.”

“He seems to be under a lot of stress.” Eli looked at Therik. “Don’t you think? He’s gotten somewhat snappy of late, almost as if he sprouted tusks—if you catch my meaning.”

“Aye,” Therik growled, grinning broadly at Stiger. There was clear amusement in the other’s gaze now.

“The palace might be too confining. Perhaps he needs more such strolls out and into the city,” Eli suggested.

“Such excursions will only occur when absolutely required,” Marcus said firmly.

Stiger closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. “I don’t need this … ”

“But look.” Eli gestured at the crowd. “The people love him. Why deny them? Why not give them their emperor more often?”

As if to emphasize that, someone shouted from the crowd, “Long live the emperor!”

“Long live the emperor,” the crowd cheered in reply.

“See?” Eli jerked his head at the crowd. “They just love him. Ben, do you recall Lorium? The power of the crowd, the love, the pure and unfiltered adoration? It saved us that time.”

“I do,” Stiger said, thinking on what the mob had done to the traitorous praetorians. They had been literally torn apart.

“Remember,” Therik said to him in a grave tone. All humor and amusement had vanished from the orc’s manner. “You are a puny mortal. Never forget that.”

Stiger caught the orc’s gaze and held it for a moment before giving a solemn nod.

“Why, I could not have said it better,” Eli said. “Therik, you are a master of words, a veritable king when it comes to uttering verbiage. How absolutely daft … no that’s not the right word … ” Eli turned to Stiger. “Ben, how do you say witty?”

“Witty?” Stiger suggested and resisted a groan. “Is that the word you are looking for?”

“Oh, right,” Eli said, snapping his fingers. “Therik, you are quite witty. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Therik shot a hot look toward the elf, but Stiger saw there was no real heat within it. The two, over the past few months, had become friends.

“You both are killing me,” Stiger said. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Eli admitted with a shrug of his shoulders, “but you must admit he does have a point. During your empire’s triumphal parades, a slave whispered what Therik just said in the ear of the conquering hero, though most never seemed to take it to heart for some odd reason.” Eli shook his head sadly. “It is my understanding there has not been a triumph for years. These days, your senate only honors heroes with an ovation. Can you believe that? A simple ovation? How droll, how boring.”

Stiger could well believe it. The senate and emperor did not much enjoy the idea of someone else becoming more popular than themselves. Gaining the favor of the mob might see such a person turn into a direct threat. Hence the ovation.

“You deserve a triumph,” Eli said. “Perhaps as emperor, you will declare one. I think the people might enjoy a parade to lift the spirits. Don’t you?”

“Those things cost money,” Marcus said irritably, “something we are sorely lacking at the moment.”

“Stop encouraging him,” Stiger said to his father.

“Such a tragedy.” Eli heaved a dramatic sigh. He looked over at Therik and then to Stiger. There was meaning in that gaze and Stiger well recognized it. “That slave, the one whispering in the hero’s ear, had a point, you know.”

“He did have a point,” Stiger agreed sourly.

Eli’s lip twitched in amusement. They both knew Stiger was no longer quite human. He was no mere mortal, not anymore, not after killing the wyrm in Vrell. The thought of how much he’d changed kept him up at night. And Eli had just intentionally reminded him of that fact.

“I’d like to send for more men, sir,” Ruga said, coming back up to Stiger, “in the event the crowd swells further and gets pushy. Spatz’s company is waiting for us in the Temple District and that’s not too far off. They can be here in short order or meet up with us on the way back, if we conclude our business here rapid-like.”

Stiger’s eyes flicked to the crowd, which was still growing. They didn’t seem terribly threatening, but that could change in a heartbeat. The crowd gave up another enthusiastic cheer.

“Do it,” Stiger’s father told the centurion. “As you say, if we keep this short, they can meet us halfway.”

Ruga saluted and with armor chinking, jogged off to his line to speak with a man. Within moments, that man broke ranks, and with his shield forward, pushed his way through the crowd. Like a hungry beast, it seemed like the crowd swallowed him up.

Clearly unhappy, Marcus surveyed the crowd. “Let’s get this done.”

“Is it time to eat yet?” Therik asked, turning and eyeing the home they had come to. “Do you think they will have food for us? As guests—that is.”

“Hungry already?” Eli asked. “We ate before we left, and I seem to recall you wolfing down an extraordinarily large meal.”

“It was a long walk down here,” Therik replied. “And we started out early. I would have brought a snack had I known how long it would take to get here.”

“We took the back streets so we would avoid the crowds,” Marcus said. “That’s why it took so long.”

“Well”—Eli shot a knowing look toward the crowd—“that clearly did not work.”

Ignoring them and feeling slightly frustrated with all the back-and-forth, Stiger looked at the home they had come to, their destination. There wasn’t much to see, as it was ringed by a large two-story wall, the lower half of which was covered over in graffiti.

Stiger knew the home took up much of the block. The grim outside belied the magnificence that lay beyond. There would be elaborate courtyards, grand entertaining halls, and open gardens, not to mention the extravagant private residence of the family that called this place their ancestral home.

Word had been sent ahead of their coming, and as a result, just outside the entrance, three people waited for them, one of whom Stiger could not help but recognize.

Eli, catching Stiger’s gaze, stepped closer and looked meaningfully toward the welcoming party.

“Miranda is looking as ravishing as ever,” Eli said, nodding to the woman standing before the open door. “I seem to recall her wanting to make an honest man of you once. Tell me—are you feeling any regrets? Be honest now with this old friend.”

Stiger glanced unhappily over at the elf as his frustration increased. He let out a heavy breath before turning his gaze back to Miranda.

Looking the part of the dignified noble lady, she stood with both hands clasped before her. Long brown hair cascaded down her back in waves. Under the morning sun, it seemed to fairly shine with reflected light. Though it had been several years, Stiger could almost smell the rosewater with which she perfumed her hair. Years ago, he had found it an intoxicating fragrance.

As if a master had carved her in marble, Miranda’s face was like looking upon near perfection. The gods had blessed her greatly with looks that other men would and had killed for. And that wasn’t what made her dangerous either. It was the ruthlessness and the single-minded focus with which she pursued her goals.

He noted she was dressed in a tailored black gown of mourning. Though most such dresses were designed to be unappealing and communicate grief, this one served to accentuate her fine figure.

“Ben, remember that time she was caught sneaking into your room?” Eli said. “That created quite an uproar amongst the Praetorian Guard. They did not think it was so funny, but I, on the other hand, have a more refined sense of humor.”

As if in pain, Stiger worked to fight off a grimace and failed.

“You had relations with this woman?” Therik asked, turning to eye her. The orc scowled. “Like the rest of your human women, she is too thin, with no meat on her bones. She is ugly beyond compare. How does your kind manage to reproduce?” Therik gave a shudder. “I cannot imagine lying with her. Just the thought of it makes me ill.”

Stiger glanced over at the orc and shook his head. “You think she’s ugly? Is that because her skin is not green?”

“That might be an improvement,” Therik admitted grudgingly. “But not a big one.”

“To humans,” Eli said, “she is a real beauty.”

Therik gave a grunt that said he was far from convinced. “She has no tusks with which to bite, to tease one before mating, just tiny little teeth.” Therik gave another shiver of disgust before looking back over at Stiger. “So, looks aside, have you mated with her? Though I cannot imagine why you would want to … ”

Stiger noticed his father was also looking at him with interest. “I’d like to know the answer to that question as well.”

“No,” Stiger said, “I most certainly have not.”

“It is not like you did not have the opportunity.” Eli almost bounced on his toes as he spoke. “She fairly threw herself at you the last time. Honestly, Ben, I have no idea why you did not take her to your bed. She was clearly looking to settle down with you.”

“I had several good reasons, thank you,” Stiger said. “If you think real hard, you might recall a few. And … she was not looking to settle down with me.”

“What reasons?” Therik asked.

“She’s a man-eater,” Marcus said simply. “And they are a dangerous breed.”

“She eats your males?” Therik suddenly became more interested. His eyes narrowed as he studied her closely. “She does not seem all that threatening, let alone dangerous, and not very muscular either. How does she kill?” The orc seemed thoroughly mystified. “Does she get them drunk first?”

“She doesn’t eat men,” Stiger said in an exasperated tone. He felt like strangling Eli. “She sleeps with them.”

“What?” Therik tore his gaze from Miranda and looked over at Stiger. “Sleep? First you tell me she eats men and now you say she sleeps with them. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Mates,” Eli explained in a patient tone, as if he were talking to a child. “She mates with men and uses them to advance her desires. When a human says he slept with a woman, he means they mated. Understand?”

“You humans complicate things overly much,” Therik said with exasperation. “Why can’t you simply say what you mean?”

“High Father help me,” Stiger breathed. “I beg you … ”

“There are rumors she recently had a lover killed,” Marcus added. “Her brother, being the late emperor, saw the mess she made covered up. But her real power comes with her body. She uses it to manipulate and bend others to her will.”

“Ah.” Therik nodded sagely as understanding dawned. “I see. She plays political games. I knew females like her amongst my own people. They could be quite dangerous. My mate, what you humans call a wife, even tried to knife me once.” He chuckled darkly as if reliving the memory. “It took me years to tame her. I look back on that time with some fondness actually.”

“You’re married?” Stiger looked over at the orc in astonishment. “In all of our time together, you never mentioned that you had a wife.”

Therik gave a shrug of his shoulders.

“Did she have cause to knife you?” Eli asked curiously. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to … ” He trailed off as Therik turned a narrowed-eyed glare on the elf that spoke on the potential for violence.

Seemingly satisfied he’d made his point with Eli, the orc king turned back to Stiger, then nodded toward Miranda. “So, this one will try to play a game with you?”

“She plays games, all right,” Stiger confirmed.

“And her family is wealthy,” Marcus added. “One thing we need right now is money. If we don’t get it or a substantial loan soon, not only is the empire in trouble, but your reign, my son, will be a short one.”

“Are you going to sleep with her, then?” Therik asked curiously. “I do not believe Taha’Leeth will approve.”

Clearly enjoying the moment, Eli shot Stiger a smirk at that. “It was a good idea to leave your wife back at the palace, if that is your intention.”

“So,” Therik said, before Stiger could respond, “you will mate with her? You will play her game to get her gold? Is that why we have come?”

“I will most definitely not,” Stiger replied firmly. “We are here to attend to a solemn duty.” He glanced back at the crowd. “And to make a show of it too. That is all. She can keep her money if she doesn’t wish to part with it. We will find what we need elsewhere.”

“Speaking of which, we are wasting time,” Marcus said. “We need to get this over with before the crowd grows to an unmanageable level. We are also expected in the Temple District.”

Stiger, having grown tired of the conversation, started forward. The others moved with him. They stopped just a few feet before Miranda, who was standing with two other people, likely household servants, slaves.

Though much time had passed since he had last seen her, she was just as beautiful and radiant as he remembered, perhaps even more so. Though there was a coldness about her, a certain grimness, or perhaps even a callousness, that seemed to mar the attractiveness, at least in Stiger’s eyes. He had not really seen that before, but now, he saw it so plainly. How had he missed it? He was even surprised that at one point he had felt desire for her. How could he have been so blind?

Miranda inclined her head before bowing respectfully to him. Her two servants dropped to a knee. Though they were dressed well, he decided both were clearly house slaves.

“Miranda,” Stiger said, “it is good to see you again.”

“And you too, Imperator.” Miranda’s tone was cold and without a hint of warmth or even past friendship. And they had been friends. At least, he had thought so. As she looked up, he found her eyes matching her tone, frigid and hard. He’d seen long-service veterans with softer gazes. “It has been too long.”

“Yes, it has,” Stiger said. He could almost feel her hostility. It seemed to radiate outward in waves. She hated him, or really, the hate was directed his way.

Why? What had he done to her?

Her gaze snapped to Eli, and she offered him a respectful nod.

“My lady.” Eli gave her a nod in return.

Miranda’s gaze moved to Therik and lingered on him a moment. Stiger saw no surprise or fear in her gaze, something people regularly exhibited when meeting the orc. Then her gaze swept across the others. She frowned slightly as she took in Father Restus, doing a double take before returning to Stiger.

“You do us great honor with your visit, Imperator,” Miranda added after a long moment of silence. “Would you care to come in for some refreshment?” She gestured behind her at the door. “We have wine and a selection of rare cheeses and meats laid out. No salt pork. I know how much you hate the stuff.”

“I am afraid, my lady,” Marcus interjected, “regretfully, our visit is not social in nature. Once our duty is concluded, we must take our leave, as we are expected at the High Father’s temple.”

“Duty,” Miranda said, pouting. “Must we always be subject to duty?”

“Duty can be a heavy burden.” Stiger shot a glance toward his father. “It is something we of the nobility cannot easily shed.”

Miranda inclined her head slightly. “Thank you for reminding me of our responsibilities, Imperator.”

Father Restus gave a light cough, drawing their attention. “My lady, I am conducting a special mass at the temple. There will be a great many people in attendance, including those of the nobility and senate who have remained in Mal’Zeel. A new High Priest will be selected at that time.”

“I know you,” Miranda said, her delicate brows drawing together. “You wear the armor of a priestly warrior. I recognize your voice as well, but at the same time I don’t. I find you familiar in the extreme. Who are you, sir?”

“This is Father Restus,” Marcus said.

“You were old, decrepit,” Miranda breathed in disbelief, looking from Marcus to Restus. “How?”

“It seems the High Father felt I had more use.” Father Restus smiled slightly. “He gave me back a few years—to better serve.”

Miranda looked toward Stiger in question. Stiger gave her a nod of confirmation, and with that, she turned her gaze back to Father Restus and shook her head slightly.

“Trust me, I was just as surprised,” Father Restus said.

“And at this special service,” Miranda said, recovering, “Father Restus will be choosing a new High Priest?”

“Something like that,” Stiger said simply.

“I seem to recall receiving an invitation.” Miranda glanced over to the slave on her right, who was still kneeling.

“You did, my lady,” the slave said softly.

“I did,” Miranda then said to them.

“You will not be attending, then?” Marcus asked.

“After your visit, I will have matters of family to attend to. I am sure you can understand.”

“Of course, my lady,” Marcus said.

Miranda’s eyes hardened even more, if that was possible. The hate within the woman seemed to pulse before it subsided.

Deciding he had played enough games for one day, Stiger turned and beckoned to two of the men who were standing a few steps behind and had not formed up with Ruga’s line. One held an urn and the other a gilded box. The urn contained the ashes of his childhood friend, the box a wax death mask that would go to the family’s ancestral wall and shrine.

Both moved forward.

“It is my sad and unhappy duty to return the remains of your brother, the late Emperor Tioclesion, to your family,” Stiger said. “I grieved at his loss, for he was a true friend.”

Miranda eyed the urn but said nothing.

“I gave him a fitting funeral with two entire legions and an allied army in attendance. Know that he died in service to his people. He gave his life for the empire.” Stiger paused, thinking back on his final meeting with the emperor in the crypt beneath the ruins of Lorium. He could still smell the stench of death that had hung heavy on the air in the catacombs from the sick and dying who had been sheltering there. “Your brother was not alone at the end.”

“You spoke with him?” Miranda asked, the mask slipping.

“I did, in the presence of Father Restus here.”

“Did he suffer?” Miranda asked.

“He was made as comfortable as possible,” Restus said gently, before Stiger could speak. “He was also given last rites and seen on into the next life. His shade is with the High Father now.”

Miranda did not say anything for several moments. Her face was a schooled mask. She eyed the urn and then the box coldly. Her gaze returned to Stiger. After a moment, her eyes became glass-like as they welled with tears.

“I thank you for returning our brother to us,” Miranda said with deep emotion. “It means more than you can possibly know. Thank you, Ben.”

Stiger fought off a scowl. He well knew no love had been lost between her and her deceased brother. They had openly hated one another and with a surprising passion too. The tears were nothing more than show.

Miranda turned to her two servants, who were still kneeling, and gestured curtly at the urn and box. Both stood and moved forward, each taking an item. They returned to their original positions behind her and waited.

“Perhaps”—Miranda swallowed and then lightly cleared her throat—“in the coming days, I might call upon you? Would you do me the honor of seeing me when I do?”

“I would.” Stiger inclined his head, then decided to be blunt. “But you should know, I have taken a wife. There can be nothing between us other than friendship—which I would welcome.”

The façade cracked again, ever so slightly, and her eyes once more hardened as she bit her lower lip. Then the schooled expression returned. If Stiger did not miss his mark, he had genuinely surprised her, more so than Restus’s rejuvenation. “And who is this lady that has captured your hand in matrimony?”

“A princess,” Eli said, “a foreigner. Ben has become quite smitten with her.”

Stiger almost groaned. He held up a hand to Eli and shot him a stern look of warning. “Eli, that is enough. I will handle this.”

“Is he still causing you trouble?” Miranda asked, her gaze flicking to Eli before returning to Stiger. A glimmer of amusement appeared. He saw a hint of the woman he’d once known.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Stiger said.

“Ben, I must admit, I am impressed,” Miranda said. “I look forward to meeting this mysterious princess. Will you do the honor of introducing us?”

“I am certain,” Marcus said diplomatically, “she will enjoy the pleasure of becoming acquainted with you as well, my lady. But now, I am afraid our duty has been discharged. We must bid you a good day and hurry on to the High Father’s temple.”

“I shall not keep you from such a sacred duty, Imperator.” Miranda inclined her head and bowed.

With that, Marcus took his son’s arm and guided him forcefully back the way they had come. Once they were moving, and their backs were to Miranda, Marcus released his hold.

“That,” Marcus said, after they had gone out of earshot, “is a dangerous woman. Best not see her again, let alone grant her an audience. Even better, as emperor, find her a suitable husband, one with strength enough of will to keep her out of trouble and, more importantly, out of our hair.”

“I am uncertain that would even work,” Eli said.

Stiger agreed and glanced back. Miranda had moved back into her home. The door had been shut. He could not but help think that she represented some future trouble for him.

“What about her money?” Therik asked. “I got the feeling she did not much like you.”

Stiger was about to respond when the crowd ahead gave a cheer. There were several thousand people now all crowding the street. Instead, he raised a hand in greeting and waved to the throng, and they gave him another hearty cheer.

“Ruga,” Stiger called after the cheer had died down, “reform for escort. We’re leaving. We will meet the reinforcement on the move.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruga said.

“Therik’s right,” Marcus said. “She is not one to help us and must now be considered an enemy or a neutral party at best. We’re going to have to find people to borrow money from soon or the mob out there won’t be cheering for long, especially when we can’t pay pensions or salaries, let alone afford the grain for the dole.”

Stiger scowled at that, for he had inherited an empire that was flat broke. The High Priest had run off with the treasury. Where he had taken it, they had absolutely no idea.

And that, Stiger knew, along with Miranda, was the least of his concerns.

Chapter Two

Stiger rested his hands upon the stone railing of the imperial balcony. He was in the main worship hall of the High Father’s temple, gazing down on the service unfolding below him. A few feet to his right stood his father and, just beyond him, Eli. Therik was to Stiger’s immediate left and looked on with intense interest. A dozen feet below the balcony at the foot of the stairs were Ruga’s men, who had fanned out in a protective screen.

Thoughts of his encounter with Miranda had long since faded. When they had arrived in the Temple District, it seemed as if half the city had come out to welcome him. The cheers had been thunderous, the atmosphere carnival-like. It had taken not only Ruga’s, but also Spatz’s and Lepidus’s men some serious effort to clear a path through the excited and enthusiastic crowd.

Stiger’s gaze flicked around the worship hall. The temple complex itself was vast. The hall was but one part of it. And yet, it never failed to leave Stiger in awe.

The hall was one of the crowing achievements of the empire, and if the tales were true, it had taken the empire’s greatest artists and architects centuries to complete. Gazing upon the splendor and magnificence before him, Stiger could well believe that. Staggering was an appropriate word.

The rectangular hall was five hundred feet wide and another thousand long. A double row of thick marble columns flanked each side, reaching up to support the ceiling, which was over a hundred feet above the floor.

Stiger had only ever seen dwarven construction exceed the magnificence of the temple complex. And that said, it was still easy to believe a divine hand had helped build it, especially this worship hall.

It wasn’t just the architecture of the temple that was impressive, but also the finer touches, the intricately painted walls, the murals, detailed frescos telling the tale of the empire and depicting important scenes from scripture and the founding of Mal’Zeel, the coming of Karus and Amarra.

The floor of the hall was white-grained marble and had a glass-like look to it that reflected light from the magical chandeliers that hung high overhead in a long line down the center of the hall.

The chandeliers’ eternal light provided a yellowed hue. All the finery, the exquisite attention to detail, everything within the hall was designed to make each worshipper feel insignificant before the grandeur and majesty of the empire and the High Father himself.

Added to that were numerous statues of former emperors, patron saints, military leaders, priests, and other notable figures that had been placed along the walls. These forever gazed outward and into the hall. The statues were so realistic that, standing before one, there was a real sense of what the person had looked like in life.

Stools and benches had been placed around the statues. These were for visitors to honor those of the revered past, pray, and light a candle at the statue’s feet in their memory. Many came to request a favor or an intercession with the High Father.

Stiger’s mother had frequently brought him to the temple to do just that. They had regularly visited several saints the Old Order honored and offered their respects. As a child, Stiger had found himself duly impressed. He could almost see his younger self, staring around in awe and fascination. He had even attended a service where Tioclesion’s father had stood upon the very balcony he was on now.

“I could never have imagined what was to come,” Stiger breathed to himself as his gaze swept across the hall. At the far end stood the centerpiece of the worship hall, the statue of the High Father, which took a strikingly aggressive pose with one foot forward as if he were boldly moving forward to confront evil.

The statue stood just before a large stone altar. Towering over worshippers and supplicants alike, the statue stood more than sixty feet high. The High Father held a spear in his right hand and a scroll in the other.

It was said that Amarra, the first High Priestess, had wielded that very holy spear and with it had helped to bring light to the darkness of their world. Stiger could not see how she would have been able to handle something so large, for the marble spear was easily seventy feet in length alone.

The scroll, on the other hand, represented the holy word, the scripture and the High Father’s teachings. Like the worship hall itself, every bit of the statue held meaning and symbolism for the faithful … and Stiger’s mother had been amongst the most devout. She had instilled upon her son a life-long belief in the High Father’s alignment, the Old Order, of which there were several gods. Not until he had joined the military had Stiger placed one god of the order above the others.

The statue was a marvel of perfection, and when Stiger gazed upon it, he felt a calming warmth fill him. His connection with his god, the power that burned within, grew hot. The High Father’s love washed over him in a welcoming and soothing embrace, and for a few moments, his worries faded away.

Every year, tens of thousands of people from the far corners of the empire made a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to the temple. Here they would worship and offer devotion before the High Father’s altar and statue. They would bring with them monetary gifts to pay the temple’s priests to perform sacrifices in their name or offer donations. It had made the church rich and powerful, almost beyond comprehension, rivaling, or more likely exceeding, the wealth of most emperors, members of the senate, and people of the equestrian class.

Only, the High Priest had run off with not only the empire’s treasury, but the monetary wealth of the temple too. That was now Stiger’s problem, and he could not see himself selling off the church’s relics to raise the funds needed to save the empire.

He shook himself back to the moment and pulled his gaze from the statue, returning his attention to the service Father Restus and the gnome priest Sehet were leading.

The once-aged paladin was wearing white, priestly robes emblazoned with the High Father’s lightning bolt. He and Sehet stood with two ranking priests before the altar that rested at the base of the High Father’s statue.

Though smaller in stature, Sehet wore a matching robe. Both were offering up a sacrifice to the High Father. Though most sacrifices were conducted in an outdoor setting so that the public, in their teeming masses, could better witness, this one was directly related to choosing the next High Priest. So it had been decided by Restus to hold the ceremony before the High Father’s statue and altar. There was no more holy place in all of Mal’Zeel, for Amarra had chosen this very spot, this hill upon which the temple complex now crowned.

Hundreds of priests who ministered to those in the city and the surrounding communities stood just behind them. They had arranged themselves into neat rows and donned their finest robes for the occasion.

A line of legionaries, all Lepidus’s men from Tenth Company, Third Legion, held the public back. They had crowded into and packed the far end of the chamber, with more likely waiting outside.

It had been Restus’s idea to include the gnome. Though it had apparently caused a major stir amongst the priests, Stiger had readily agreed, especially after Sehet had more than proved himself and his faith during the fight to take the palace. The battle against Valoor’s priest had left the gnome weak and exhausted. He had slept for over a day, and when he’d awoken, Sehet had barely been able to move under his own power.

Besides, Stiger thought as he glanced over at Therik, it was time the people of Mal’Zeel knew that other races, beyond elves, honored the High Father and his alignment. The sooner they accepted that, the better, and what quicker way to make that plain than have Sehet offer devotion and prayer alongside a paladin of the High Father, while the emperor looked on?

Opposite the imperial balcony, a choir was singing a hymn in perfect pitch. Sounding almost otherworldly, the singing filled the entire chamber and echoed off the walls. Stiger thought it quite pleasing to the ears.

Down below and off to the right side of the priests, Stiger’s brother Max was present as well. With him were the six senators who had remained in the capital.

Six.

That was all that had stuck around.

Eyeing the senators, Stiger felt an intense stab of anger overcome him. The peace he had felt moments before was shattered. The anger wasn’t directed at these senators, but those manipulative bastards who had sided with his enemy, Lehr Pompentius Lears. When Stiger had killed the man they’d elevated to emperor, the man who had tried to steal the Curule Chair, most of the senators had fled rather than face his wrath.

Where a Stiger goes, death follows.

The senators in their carefully chalked togas below were the weakest and poorest of the bunch. By remaining, he well understood they were hoping to gain some sort of advantage and increase their standing with the new emperor. And in truth, Stiger knew they would be successful in that regard.

All six had pledged their loyalty and their houses to him. Should Stiger prove successful in saving the empire from the Cyphan Confederacy, each would be rewarded with lands and incredible wealth.

Still, Stiger chided himself. He needed to be confirmed by the senate, and currently there weren’t enough senators to form a quorum to get that done. He could name himself emperor, but under the law, until the senate confirmed his ascension, it was not binding. Legally, someone else could supplant him.

Stiger’s anger turned to intense frustration. He gripped the stone railing. He couldn’t just appoint new senators. That had been tried in the past and it had never ended well. The mob would not accept it. Whether he liked it or not, the senators and their families were the powerbrokers of the empire. Their influence ran incredibly deep into the provinces. Many had extensive land holdings along with vast client networks.

If the senate ultimately chose to resist him, they could make his job incredibly difficult, perhaps even spark another civil war. That was something the empire could ill afford. He needed those who had fled, no matter how detestable they were to his family, to return and recognize his claim, in short, to support him. How he was going to accomplish that Stiger was unsure.

It was a disagreeable situation to be certain. He did not even know where most of the senators had fled, which made it all the worse. Still, now that he had the power, Stiger knew he would do whatever needed doing to hang onto it. He could not give up what he had fought so hard to achieve, not now, not ever. There was just too much on the line, too much riding on him.

“Thank you.”

Startled from his thoughts, Stiger looked over. Therik had stepped nearer and spoken in a low tone so that only the two of them could hear. The orc’s gaze was not upon the ceremony below, but the High Father’s statue.

“For what?” Stiger asked.

“For this.” Therik gestured out at the statue. “For allowing me to come, here, to this holiest of holy places for your people. You did not have to take me with you, but you did. For that, I thank you.”

Stiger sucked in a breath. He well recalled how he and Father Thomas had found Therik in a ruined temple to the dark god, Castor. The former king, cruelly tortured for his betrayal of his god, had been dying, with one foot in the grave. He’d been intentionally left as a message, one Stiger had been meant to find. That had been in Forkham Valley and in the distant past.

So much had happened since then.

Therik had accepted the High Father and, with the help of Stiger and Father Thomas, had been healed of his grievous injuries. Stiger had turned that message around on Castor. In the time since that dark day, Therik had not only become an ally, but also one of his closest friends, someone he could unquestionably count upon, a rarity for Stiger, who, over the years, had seen many shy away from him due to his name and family history.

Glancing over at the hulking orc, at first, Stiger wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He found himself moved by the orc’s sincerity. Stiger had accepted the mantle of Champion for the High Father, but he was still coming to grips with being regarded as a spiritual figure. The thought of it made him feel uneasy. He did not have the natural and easy manner that Father Griggs, Thomas, or Restus had when it came to matters of faith, let alone dealing with the faithful. Stiger was at heart a soldier, and yet, now, he had become so much more.

“You do not owe me thanks for this.” Stiger gestured out at the High Father’s statue. “You deserve to be here as much as I or anyone else who is faithful. This temple is a home for those who believe.”

Therik gave an absent nod and for several heartbeats did not respond. “Without you or Father Thomas, my eyes would never have been opened. I would not now follow this path we walk, let alone the High Father’s.”

“We’ve been through a lot, my friend. There is much that I owe you for too.”

“True,” Therik said. “Especially back when we were in my time.”

“What will you do when this is all over?” Stiger asked.

“You mean after we crush the Cyphan Confederacy, turn their cities to ash, salt their fields, and make their women weep for having ever bore their sons?” Therik asked with bared teeth and a frightening intensity to his eyes.

“You’ve been hanging around Braddock too much,” Stiger said, thinking on the dwarf thane’s pledge of revenge. “But yes, what then?”

“I’m going to fulfill my promise and kill you,” Therik said with a slight growl.

Stiger gave an amused chuckle to that. “Then what? Have you given it any thought?”

“This isn’t my time.” Therik let out a heavy breath. “I was never meant to be here, at your side, nor worshipping the High Father. Castor had other plans for me.”

“It seems so too did the High Father.”

Therik gave a grunt. “You may be onto something. In fact, I know you are … ”

“So,” Stiger pressed, “after you kill me, what will you do?”

Once again, Therik did not immediately respond. He flexed his jaw for several moments, tusks jutting, clearly in thought, then looked over. “If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?” The orc glanced over at Eli. “I would prefer the elf not to know.”

Wondering what was coming, Stiger gave a nod.

“I will find what remains of my people in this time.” Therik gave a shrug. “After what was done to them, what you did to them, they will need a strong hand and guidance. Who knows, I might even challenge their leaders to personal combat, show them what real strength looks like, and become a king again.”

Stiger gave a nod.

“You don’t think it stupid?” Therik asked, shooting him a sidelong glance. It was clear Therik had given this much thought.

“I do not,” Stiger said. “I’d even help, if you will allow it.”

“Good. Though you won’t be alive to see it, you should be comforted in knowing that I will bring the High Father’s good word to them.”

Stiger wondered how that might play out. Could Therik be successful with such an endeavor? The orcs were followers of Castor, a dark and evil god opposed to the High Father and his alignment. And their belief was entrenched. Then again, Therik could be quite determined when it came to getting something done.

They fell silent once more and continued to watch the sacrifice being carried out below. It was bloody and gruesome work. Father Restus had finished slaughtering the offering, a bull, which had died well and unafraid, always a good portent. The creature had been led in by a junior priest by its golden nose ring and was now being ritually taken apart by the two priests who had stood with Restus and Sehet. Their once pristine white robes were now scarlet from the fruits of their labor. Throughout it all, the choir had continued to sing their heavenly hymns.

“There are similarities,” Therik said, “between Castor’s service and the High Father’s.”

“Doesn’t Castor sacrifice people instead of animals?” Stiger well recalled witnessing just such a sacrifice in Forkham valley. It had been a horrific sight, something he well knew would be with him until the end of his days.

“A living thing is a living thing,” Therik said, “is it not? No matter if it can think for itself or it cannot? Given a choice, do you think the bull would have offered up its life?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Stiger admitted.

“The gods require a lot of killing in their service,” Therik said, in almost a weary tone. “I have seen much death and brutality in my time. So too have you.”

“Perhaps, when this is all said and done, the killing will finally come to an end.”

“Do you really think so?” Therik asked, looking at him. “Because I don’t think it will ever end. For one reason or another, someone or something will always need killing. The Last War might one day come to a close, but the killing will go on and on. It has always been this way and will always be this way.”

Stiger ran his hand along the stone railing, feeling its smooth texture, while he considered Therik’s words. He knew truth when he heard it. And it saddened him.

“It makes me sad too,” Therik said, as if he could sense Stiger’s thoughts. The orc gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “But it is as it should be.”

“Killing?” Stiger was confused by the orc’s comment, especially after all he had just said.

“Killing, fighting, life,” Therik said. “In the end, it is but a test, a personal one. Those who pass live; those who do not cross over the great river and join their ancestors.”

“A test of character and strength of will,” Stiger said.

“Yes,” Therik agreed. “Life is a struggle. The High Father teaches that life is a journey and death a destination.”

“But along the way—we all struggle,” Stiger said.

“And despite the struggle, in the end, we all get to the same destination. Ironic, is it not?”

“The great river,” Stiger breathed, “and its crossing.”

“But it’s how we get there that matters.” Therik glanced over and bared his tusks in a grin.

“You and I did not take the easy path through this life, then.”

“No, we haven’t,” Therik agreed, the grin slipping from his face. “And I look down on those who have, for what is a life worth living without a little challenge, some risk, eh?”

“And what if you end your days ancient and decrepit, dying from old age?” Stiger asked. “Tuskless?”

“If the High Father wills it so, then that is how it will be.” Therik paused for a long moment, and when he spoke next, the grin was back. “Then all will know that the only thing that could defeat me was time, which I have already beaten, in a way, being here with you. Either way, when I pass onto the shadows, in the next life, I will have one epic of a story to tell about the journey. So too will you.”

“I won’t end up dying from old age. You are going to kill me when this is all over.”

“That’s right,” Therik said. “Do not ever forget that.”

“Trust me. I won’t.”

“Why didn’t you bring Taha’Leeth?” Therik asked abruptly. “It wasn’t because of that human woman, Miranda, was it?”

“My father thought it would be unwise,” Stiger said, adjusting to the change in conversation. “Until I am confirmed by the senate, no one is to know we are married.”

“All because she is an elf? And not a human?”

“We don’t know how the mob will react to such news. Public opinion can be a fickle thing.”

“Do you think they will really care?” Therik asked. “The empire is on the precipice. The Castol are marching down from the north with an army. The Cyphan Confederacy marches from the south. Time and again your empire’s armies have been crushed, defeated. Only you have been victorious. It may have escaped your notice, but you, alone, bring your people hope. You are their savior, their hero, their light in the darkness … their champion.”

“You have become quite eloquent in the common tongue.”

“Whether I speak broken Common or not, does it change the truth of my words?”

“We can’t afford to take that risk, not now,” Stiger said. “When the time is right, it shall be announced.”

“It is your empire. You make the rules. Though I do not believe one such as her will be pleased to be hidden away—as if you are ashamed.” Therik turned his attention down toward the priests. “So, how will you choose this new High Priest?”

Stiger’s eyes went to Restus and Sehet. Both the paladin and priest were singing now, along with the choir, as the attendant priests continued their work on the sacrifice, divining what mysteries they could from its remains.

“They will choose one?” Therik asked, following Stiger’s gaze.

“We’ve not discussed it in depth.” Stiger gestured to the front ranks of priests. “Restus has several candidates, who I will meet shortly. They are the heads of their respective holy orders … orders within the church. I am certain he will pick someone worthy. After all, he is a paladin of the High Father.”

“What?” Therik looked over sharply. Anger filled the orc’s gaze. “You do not have someone picked out in advance?”

“No,” he admitted and suddenly realized how foolish that sounded. “Restus mentioned several suitable candidates who will do as we say. More importantly, that person will affirm my ascension to the Curule Chair. So I left the choice up to him. All that will be left after that is getting the bulk of the senate to return so that a quorum can be formed.”

“Why leave it up to him?” The orc’s brow furrowed. “This person will lead your people’s temple. He will be the one to look to for spiritual guidance. It should be a worthy choice, someone who our god will approve of.”

“I don’t know these priests.” Stiger gestured down below. “I don’t know any of them.”

“That is no excuse. You should have learned more about those that Restus considers suitable.”

“There’s been no time,” Stiger said. “I’ve only been in the city a little under four days.”

“This is politics,” Therik said.

“Politics?” Stiger was feeling sour now. He well knew where Therik was going.

“I can’t believe you can be so stupid,” Therik said in an exasperated tone. “You understand the battlefield like no one I have ever met. And yet, when it comes to the political field, you are a hapless babe.”

“A babe?” Stiger asked.

“Politics is just a different type of fight. Those priests down there”—Therik waved below them—“I guarantee you there is a pecking order amongst them. Choose one over another and you will make enemies, stoke hatreds, create intrigues. You need to learn the lay of the land before such an important choice is made.”

“I will be leaving soon,” Stiger said, thinking on Menos and Ogg. He had to save them from whatever trouble they had gotten themselves into. “Currose will be ready any day now. If she had been, I’d have already left. With all that I must to do in the little time I have—”

“Then delay it, make the time.” Therik’s voice had increased in volume and carried. The orc had even turned to face him. “You need to get your house in order before you go. This”—Therik waved a hand at Father Restus and Sehet—“this service should have been delayed until you got to meet the candidates. Have you learned nothing from me? Bah.”

“People are beginning to stare,” Marcus hissed in a low whisper. Stiger’s father had stepped near. “Whatever it is, it can bloody well wait until we are done here and the new High Priest has been installed.”

Stiger glanced over at the priests and crowd of people behind them. Several were looking up at the balcony. He gave a nod to his father. As he did, Stiger caught Eli’s gaze. The elf seemed both curious and amused by the apparent tension between him and Therik.

“You are emperor now,” Therik said quietly to Stiger. “You should let no one but yourself make such a weighty decision, not even the paladin. You know I speak the truth.”

“What would you have me do?” Stiger hissed back as he looked at the mass of priests below. “Pick someone at random?”

“That might work better,” Therik admitted. “We won’t know until this all shakes out, now, will we?”

“Please,” Stiger’s father hissed. “This can wait. It will not do to make a scene.”

Feeling irritated, Stiger fell silent. He knew Therik was more than right. He should have taken the time to meet the candidates first. Lightly, he punched his fist down several times on the stone railing. He glanced at Therik and then down at the hundreds of priests below.

All dressed in white, flowing robes, from such a distance they were nearly identical. All except those in the back rows. Their robes weren’t as fine as those positioned farther forward. Stiger suspected they were common priests and priestesses from surrounding communities or poorer temples within the city.

They were the lesser ranked individuals. But still, with all the priests below, even if he had given several an audience to get to know them better, how to select one candidate from another? What suited one to become the leader of the church? Seniority? Devotion to faith? Surely the paladin would have such an answer.

And Restus had assured both Stiger and his father that he had several worthy candidates to choose from. The service and sacrifice below were designed to receive the blessing of the High Father. The great god would, Restus said, give a sign—if one was warranted. And if one wasn’t, Restus, as one of the High Father’s direct representatives, would make what he considered the appropriate choice.

But now that Stiger thought on it, he knew there was a lesson to be learned here. This was one more mistake, on a long road littered with mistakes and personal failures, yet another notch to chalk up on the wall. And Stiger hated making mistakes. But with mistakes always came hindsight and, more importantly, experience.

The choir, still singing, switched hymns to “Glory Be to the High Father Above.” They sang the hymn in the old tongue, Lingua Romano. As they did, the priests, all of them throughout the worship hall, went down to their knees. This was followed by those of the public also kneeling. Stiger knew that those honored guests on the imperial balcony were exempted from kneeling. So, he remained standing.

The ritual sacrifice was complete. The bottoms of their robes thoroughly stained red, Father Restus and Sehet had turned around to face those assembled. Four priests stood and came forward to stand before them.

Stiger supposed that those four were the candidates, the heads of the most important holy orders within the church. The choir switched to the “Blessed Way,” one of his favorite hymns, and though it sounded incredibly beautiful, Stiger found he could not enjoy it.

He wondered which one of the priests would be the chosen one. A feeling came over him that none of the candidates were the correct choice. It was more a sense of wrongness than anything else.

Rubbing his jaw with mounting frustration, he turned his gaze to the High Father’s statue and suddenly felt a wave of guilt. He had not thought to simply ask, to seek guidance from his lord and master, to pray.

He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and thought on what he wanted to say.

“High Father, I beg your forgiveness,” Stiger breathed to himself. “I am still new at this and should have sought guidance.”

Immediately, his connection with his god warmed, almost becoming hot. It was not anger, but understanding mixed with a deep sense of love.

Thinking on the hymn being sung, Stiger continued with his prayer. “Show me the blessed way, the one you would choose to lead your flock, the one you favor above all others.”

The power within him surged to a level he had not felt for some time. Stiger was surprised by it and the suddenness with which it came on. His eyes snapped open, and he took a stumbling step backward.

Blinking, he rubbed at his eyes, for the High Father’s statue began moving, as if coming to life. The head was turning, first looking directly at him. Stiger felt the High Father’s gaze come to rest upon him in a loving embrace that filled him with warmth. Then the god’s head turned away and his gaze shifted to down at the priests below. No one else seemed to notice.

How could that be?

The statue’s eyes began to glow, at first faintly, then with a brilliant white light. A moment later a beam shot forth, striking downward amongst the assembled priests.

Stiger looked at Therik. Still staring at Restus, the orc seemed wholly unaware of what was happening. The choir continued to sing uninterrupted. Stiger looked over at Eli and his father. Both seemed completely oblivious.

Stiger’s gaze was drawn back to the statue and the light. He sucked in a breath as understanding dawned. His prayer had been answered. Pushing past Therik, he began moving toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Therik asked.

“Wait here,” Stiger said and, taking them two at a time, began making his way down the steps.

Ruga, along with his men, stood guard at the foot of the stairs. The centurion turned, surprised.

“Sir?” Ruga asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Stand aside, Centurion, and remain here,” Stiger said firmly and then was past. He moved for the mass of priests who, like everyone else, were still kneeling. A few looked up as he approached.

A sidelong glance told Stiger both Restus and Sehet were looking in his direction as well, clearly wondering what was going on. The choir continued to sing on, and then, Stiger was amongst the orderly rows of priests, moving past them, one row after another, until he came to the last and final row.

There he stopped.

The beam of light shone down upon a kneeling priestess. Her robes were of the poorest quality wool that had been chalked over to make them as white as could be. And even then, the wool looked shabby and nearly threadbare. She looked up. Stiger was surprised to find her young, no more than twenty-five, with an honest face and shoulder-length brown hair that had been tied into a single braid.

Stiger did not know what to say. He hesitated, for the holy light that had bathed her abruptly disappeared. He glanced back at the High Father’s statue and found it as it had originally been.

Had he imagined it all?

“Imperator?” she asked. Her voice was firm, calm, steady even. There was no fear there, only question. Her brown-eyed gaze was strong and filled with a confidence that belied her years. More importantly, he saw what he took to be strength of will there.

Interesting, Rarokan hissed in his mind. Very interesting.

Stiger went cold, for he could sense the mad wizard’s interest in the woman kneeling before him. The wizard’s soul was trapped within his sword, and more than anything, Rarokan wanted out. He had his own machinations, and those included taking control of Stiger’s body and dominating his soul. But for Father Thomas, Rarokan had almost succeeded in achieving his ambition too.

I have not foreseen this, Rarokan hissed and then laughed darkly. Good. Oh, this is very good. Finally, you have changed events, altered what was, bending them to your will, taking the less obvious fork in the road. Oh, this is very good indeed.

What do you mean, wizard? Stiger asked mentally.

There was no answer.

Tell me!

“Imperator?” the priestess asked again, drawing his attention.

“What is your name?”

“Camela, Imperator.”

“Where are you from, Camela?”

“Here in the city, the Laria, Imperator. The temple where I minister is located there. It is small, as is my flock.” She paused and looked almost embarrassed. “I work hard to not only care for my parishioners, but to grow their numbers too.” Almost nervously, she admitted, “It is not so easy as I had thought, but I have more attending service than I did when I arrived to take up my post.”

Stiger knew of the Laria. It was the worst slum in Mal’Zeel, a place generally to be avoided and where the poorest of the poor eked out their lives. Just venturing down into that quarter of the city was a risk, for only the strongest seemed to survive in the Laria. “And how did you get such a posting?”

Camela glanced to either side. The nearest priests were watching intently.

“How did you get such a posting?”

“I volunteered.”

Stiger was surprised by that. “Why?”

“There was no one else willing to go,” Camela said. “The last priest had died of old age, and no one wanted it.”

“You could have had a better posting.” Even as he said it, Stiger knew the words to be true.

“I was born there, Imperator, in the Laria,” she said simply. “I found my faith within that poor temple and, in truth, even the indigent deserve to be ministered to. All should have some measure of hope.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered her.

“Are you faithful, Camela?” Stiger asked, already knowing the answer he would receive. Still, he felt compelled to ask. “Do you believe?”

She eyed him for a long moment. Camela’s eyes brimmed over in unshed tears. She swallowed before she spoke. “With all of my heart, Imperator. Ever since I was a little girl, the High Father spoke to me in ways I find difficult to describe … to explain. No one can understand … ” She touched her chest. “I feel his love for not only me, but all of us within. I feel him.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered her for a moment more. He sensed her life had been far from easy. He could see it within her eyes, almost read it in her being. She had known true suffering and become stronger for it.

He glanced around at the priests surrounding them. All eyes, it seemed, were staring at the two of them. Many were whispering amongst themselves. Stiger glanced back at the balcony and at Therik and then back on the kneeling priests around them. He thought on the orc’s words a moment further before turning his attention back to Camela.

“So be it,” he said to himself, then held out his hand to her, for she was still kneeling. “Will you come with me?”

Hesitantly, she reached out and took his hand. He found hers coarse and rough, which told him she was accustomed to hard work. He pulled her gently to her feet.

“Where are we going?” she asked him in barely a whisper.

Stiger did not reply. Instead, he led her back through the rows of kneeling priests. The choir had ceased their singing. They, like everyone else, were now watching. Whispering sprang up throughout the hall. Stiger led her up to the altar.

Restus and Sehet had turned and were staring as they approached the last few feet. The two other priests who had attended to the ritual had stopped their work on the sacrifice, for they were now cleaning it up. Respectfully, they stood back and to the side. So too did the four priests who had been called forward, Restus’s candidates, the heads of powerful orders within the church. All were old men.

Stiger eyed them for a moment and felt a slight sense of wrongness, as in they were not suitable, then turned to look at the paladin. Restus arched an eyebrow at him, while the gnome just looked on with unblinking, black eyes and an unreadable expression. It was difficult on the best of days to determine what a gnome was thinking. Still holding Camela’s hand, Stiger turned to her. At first, he did not know what to say.

Camela seemed to sense his hesitation. “How can I help you, Imperator?”

“You, Camela of the Laria, are not my choice,” Stiger said to her plainly.

Camela’s brows drew together. “I do not understand, Imperator.”

Restus sucked in a breath as his gaze went sharply to Stiger before returning to Camela. Then the paladin smiled broadly. “There has not been a High Priestess since the Great Mother, Empress Amarra.”

“Amarra?” Camela asked, looking between them. She suddenly paled and gripped Stiger’s hand tighter, as if holding on for dear life. “Surely not. You cannot do this to me. I am happy, content in the Laria—I still have much to do there before it’s my time to move on … my work is unfinished.”

“Over every priest in this sacred hall, the High Father chose you.” Stiger gestured at the great statue looming over them. “He led me directly to you, Camela. I ask you, why?”

Camela’s mouth opened and then closed, but no sound came out. She looked like she wanted to bolt from the hall, but Stiger’s hand upon hers held fast. Her reaction was answer enough for him.

Still holding her hand, Stiger sank to a knee and looked up at her. He raised his voice so it would carry throughout the hall. “I would beg a blessing, High Priestess Camela, for me, the empire, and all of our people in this troubled time. By the High Father and the gods of the Old Order, we surely need it.”

“I—I,” Camela stammered in a near whisper to him. “I can’t be the High Priestess. Surely you must be mistaken.”

“I am not,” Stiger said firmly.

“The choice has been made,” Restus said loudly for all to hear. “The High Father and the emperor have spoken.”

Still clearly stunned to her core, Camela looked around as if searching for help. After a long moment, she turned her gaze back to Stiger and just shook her head in what was clear disbelief.

“I don’t know if I have the strength for this,” she admitted to Stiger.

“You already have the strength,” Restus said. “For he, our lord and master, has chosen you. I can feel his approval. Surely you can as well?”

Camela closed her eyes for a long moment. A tear ran down one cheek. Then she gave a nod as she opened them and sucked in a breath that was a near sob.

“Will you accept the burden he has asked you to bear and bless our new emperor, the High Father’s Champion?” Restus asked, taking a half step closer.

Camela turned her gaze back to Stiger. Her eyes were almost impossibly wide as he looked up into them, deep too. She shook her head as if in disbelief and then closed her eyes once more. Stiger felt his connection to the High Father warm. As if awakening from a slumber, a matching warmth within her flared to life. He could sense it, feel it even, radiating outward in powerful pulses. The strength of it made his exposed skin tingle.

When she opened her eyes a moment later, a solitary tear ran down her right cheek. She sucked in a shuddering breath and, taking a tighter hold of his hand, pulled Stiger to his feet. Though it had only been a span of heartbeats, Stiger knew something profound had just happened to her. The High Father had reached out, rewarding her selfless devotion and faith, and in a personal way too. Not only did she have the spark, what was called will, but now, the ability to use it.

“You are truly blessed, Imperator,” Camela breathed. “I can feel it. Just as the High Father has touched me, so too has he touched you.”

“That’s right,” Stiger said.

A moment later there was the deep intonation of a bell. It was thunderous and seemed to shake the foundation of the temple. A bubble of white light formed around them.

There was a near-collective gasp from those watching.

Camela looked down at herself and the holy light emanating forth.

“You too have been blessed, High Priestess Camela,” Stiger said and, still holding her hand, turned to face the orderly lines of priests and the gathered crowd. He raised his voice. “The High Father has made his choice. All hail High Priestess Camela.”

There was a heartbeat of stunned silence, then the hall erupted into thunderous shouts of approval from those assembled.

Stiger glanced over at Camela. She was pale and still clearly shocked to her core. He knew, very much like his own, her life would never be the same. He instinctually knew she would conduct her duties with honor, courage, loyalty, and faith in her path leading the empire’s faithful. It would not be an easy journey, but she would rise to the occasion. Duty, responsibility, and faith dictated one’s path. As Therik had said, a life worth living was not an easy journey, and hers had clearly been a challenging one.

Most interesting indeed, Champion, Rarokan said in his mind. The path that lies ahead for you now will be quite difficult, for it has not been seen. Yes, quite difficult indeed—and I intend to enjoy every moment of it.

Stiger felt a chill run down his spine, for the mad wizard within his sword laughed maniacally.

Chapter Three

Stiger rubbed at his jaw, feeling not only fresh stubble, but a mounting frustration. It seemed like that was all he felt these days—frustration coupled with anger. He had more than his fair share of problems, an entire empire’s worth, and they were doing their best to drive him to distraction.

His father stood just off to the right of the Curule Chair amidst the splendor of the throne room. As he sat, rubbing his jaw, Stiger spared his father a glance. Five days ago, this throne room had been a scene of carnage and violence. It had since been cleaned up. There was no longer even a hint of what had occurred or the lives that had been snuffed out in this very room, including Stiger’s old enemy, Lears, his wife, and Valoor’s agent, Tribune Handi.

There was a bubble of pleasure from Rarokan at the thought of Handi and the man’s subsequent fate. Stiger had allowed the dread weapon to take the tribune’s soul. That was something he was normally loath to do. But it had broken Valoor’s cycle of rebirth and in a way had been a fitting end for someone who’d personally caused so much death, damage, and destruction to the empire.

Even the mere thought of what Handi had done fired Stiger’s anger.

He earned his fate, Rarokan hissed in his mind as it sent him a slight surge of anger in a clear attempt to provoke him to action.

Enough from you.

Recognizing the effort for what it was, Stiger forced the mad wizard’s mind back into his prison, the vessel that was the dread sword, which currently rested against the side of the Curule Chair. The mad wizard laughed maniacally at him as he slammed the prison door closed.

Taking a calming breath, his gaze flicked briefly around the throne room. He had always disliked the palace. Even as a child and playing with his late friend Tioclesion, it had seemed cold and unwelcoming. Now, Stiger had come to thoroughly hate the place, especially so after he had claimed the throne as his own in the manner he had.

“Perhaps I will tear it down,” Stiger breathed to himself, “rebuild and fashion something new.”

Yes, that sounded like a good idea.

“Excuse me, Imperator?”

Stiger mentally berated himself for allowing his attention to wander. He returned it to the man standing a few feet before him. Just beyond was Ruga, who had been looking on with a bored expression. Two of the centurion’s men had been positioned off to the sides of the double doors that led into the throne room. They looked exceedingly bored as well. Stiger could not blame them.

“Continue, Jevenus,” Stiger said, though he wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into the man. Instead, Stiger clamped down on his anger. It would not do to unleash it, not now, not for this matter, for that would only serve to make things worse and undermine his rule.

“Of course, Imperator,” Jevenus, a powerful and wealthy merchant, said. “This contract means everything to me and my family. Surely you can understand that.”

Jevenus was in his late thirties. He was fit, with short-cropped brown hair that was beginning to not only recede but thin and gray. He had a kindly face that spoke of an understanding and sympathetic nature. Despite appearances, he had proven quite intractable and unwilling to bend to Stiger’s will.

Which was, in a manner of speaking, playing into his hands, Stiger reflected, as a new approach to the matter, a potential resolution, occurred to him. Cognizant of Therik’s words the day before in the temple, he sat up straighter and studied the man closer, almost leaning forward in the Curule Chair. This was politics, and Stiger resolved to master it like he would any other field of battle. He would start with this merchant.

Jevenus’s vast wealth was on open display for the emperor. On each hand, numerous gold and silver rings decorated the man’s fingers. His toga had been made of the finest of cloths, exquisitely tailored and hemmed with a blue stripe that indicated his equite class status. The toga had been chalked perfectly and expertly white, shedding only a little white onto the man’s skin around his neck and arms.

“You live outside of the city,” Stiger asked, “do you not?”

Stiger’s father had briefed him on the man and his family, along with the massive estate Jevenus called home. He’d said it was a vast compound, a veritable palace with hundreds of slaves and extensive gardens. There was also a wading pool and a full bathhouse on site, the kind one found only in the city.

Lavish parties had been held there, and often too, from what his father had told him. Jevenus’s wife loved entertaining and the merchant had expanded their estate accordingly. Even Emperor Tioclesion had on occasion attended her gatherings.

“I do, Imperator,” Jevenus said neutrally. “A few miles beyond the south gate. I prefer a country setting rather than an urban one.” It was clear the man was wondering where Stiger was going.

Instead of giving anything away, Stiger glanced over at Marcus Stiger. “My father tells me your estate is something to see, an experience in its own right.”

“It is quite humble.” Jevenus looked between Stiger and Marcus. “I assure you.”

“I would not call it humble,” Marcus said.

“I do,” Jevenus said with a deprecating smile. It was clear he did not wish to speak on his personal property or his own wealth. He brought both hands together under the fold of his toga, concealing the rings. “If we could return to the matter at hand, please? This contract means everything to my family.”

“The wheat you agreed to deliver means the same to the empire,” Stiger said, forcing himself to remain calm. “It provides the bulk of the grain dole, feeds the mob, and keeps the people relatively peaceful and in line.”

“That it does,” Jevenus agreed, “as was its purpose when the senate created the program. It solved hunger for the masses, the general discontent. Their dependence upon the government’s generosity serves to keep them in line.”

Stiger did not immediately reply. In truth, it appalled him that one family should have been granted so much power and leverage over the empire. Power and wealth—that was the game that was played, and Jevenus’s family had grown incredibly wealthy over the transportation and storage contracts they had won decades ago. More likely, Stiger considered, they had originally bribed their way to wealth and prosperity.

“The latest shipment is also past due,” Marcus added, “by more than a week.”

“My family has managed the grain dole shipments for more than forty years. My father was awarded the original contract and I was fortunate enough to retain it after his passing.”

“In short, you bribed the senate,” Marcus said wryly. “Everyone knows that.”

Jevenus inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of the fact and turned his gaze back to the emperor. “We are greatly honored by the responsibility which has been entrusted to us. It is the pride of our house, and yet, without the gold that was promised, Imperator, there can be no wheat delivery. I am truly sorry. The contract between myself and the government is clear. I am not operating a charity. I’m sure you can understand that. I fronted the money for the wheat in good faith, bought it with my own means. That does not include the transportation costs from the provinces. You see, I must bear that burden, and well, it all adds up. Delivering without payment could—will ruin me.”

“I very much doubt that,” Marcus said.

Stiger regarded the merchant for a long moment. He knew much of the grain was already in the capital, stored in Jevenus’s warehouses. And yet, Stiger understood he could not just seize it in the name of the empire. After the war with the Cyphan and the Castol ended, Stiger would still need to rule, and that had to be based upon law and his word. The contracts for the wheat were in both the emperor’s name and the senate’s. People had to have trust that he would honor the empire’s commitments and laws. So taking it was simply out of the question.

One of the two doors at the end of the room opened and Taha’Leeth, wearing a flowing pale green dress, strode in. Stiger thought the green of the dress contrasted nicely against her red, fiery hair. He felt a stirring of desire rise from within. She was not only beauty, but also grace incarnate.

Both guards and Ruga snapped to attention as she passed them by. She eyed Stiger for a long moment, then Jevenus, before moving off to the side, stopping at a broad window. The shutters had been thrown open, allowing in the light and cold air of the day. A smoking brazier by the window burned incense. She turned her gaze outward at the city. The message was clear. She would wait until their business was concluded.

Jevenus glanced over curiously at her, blinked as he realized she was not human, then turned his attention back to Stiger. He straightened his toga and looked at Stiger with a questioning expression. It was clear he badly wanted to know who she was, especially someone who felt free to just drop in on the emperor.

“I had hoped that by granting you an audience and personally speaking with you,” Stiger said, “we might reach an accommodation, an understanding. It seems I was wrong.”

“Imperator.” Jevenus clasped both hands before him and took a deep breath that was filled with what could only be described as exasperation. “May I speak plainly?”

“I prefer people who are direct and to the point,” Stiger said.

Jevenus licked his lips and glanced back at Ruga and his two men. His gaze went to Stiger’s father before flicking ever so briefly to Taha’Leeth. Clearly whatever the man intended to say was a delicate matter.

“Speak your mind,” Stiger said. “I will not hold it against you. On that, you have my word as a Stiger.”

“Very well. It is rumored the empire’s treasury is bare as an empty cupboard,” Jevenus said. “It is becoming the talk of the entire city that the last High Priest—the Pontificus Maximus—Magnus, ran off with the empire’s funds. I always thought him to be a greedy cuss myself, more interested in politics than the faith. Is this true? Is the empire broke?”

“Rumors, nothing more,” Marcus said firmly.

Jevenus eyed Marcus for a long moment. “Then why appoint a replacement, a new High Priestess, in his stead? Also, if it were just rumors, then I would have my money and you would have your grain.”

“We are at war,” Stiger said. “It may have escaped your notice, but the empire is fighting for its life. Raising armies and feeding them requires great sums of capital.”

“So too does supplying the grain dole. I have employees to pay, my family, a veritable army of slaves to feed, clothe, and house, creditors to satisfy, and a beloved wife who, to my chagrin, dearly likes expensive things”—he paused—“along with entertaining and holding parties on our estate. This costs money.”

“Do you have children?” Stiger asked, despite knowing that the man did indeed have children. Marcus had briefed him on that.

“Two daughters,” Jevenus said. “They are in their early teens.”

“I assume you love them.” Stiger rubbed his hands together and then cracked his knuckles. He had been sitting in the chair for too long. His back was beginning to ache. A sparring session with Therik might be in order, not only for the workout, but to get rid of the frustration.

“Imperator,” Jevenus gasped and placed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Surely you would not stoop so low as to threaten my family—in a bid to get the wheat.”

“That was not my intention. I merely meant without the wheat in your warehouses, your beloved wife and daughters could very well end up as slaves of the confederacy. Do you know what they do to their slaves, particularly the women?”

Jevenus was silent for several moments. “Yes, I have heard what the Cyphan do to their captives, specifically imperials who fall into their hands. Such tales are running rampant. Are they true?”

“They most assuredly are,” Stiger said.

“I see.” Jevenus paused for a long moment, as if thinking. “How about a compromise?”

“A compromise?” Marcus asked.

“I will deliver half of what was ordered, along with a promise of payment, plus ten percent to cover my expenses of fronting that for which I have yet to be paid. That will buy you a month with the mob, Imperator, maybe longer if you ration the dole.”

Stiger leaned back in his chair and gave the outward appearance of giving the matter some thought. To his side, Stiger’s father shifted his stance and crossed his arms.

“I’m afraid your proposal is not acceptable,” Stiger said quietly after several moments. “Nevertheless, you will hand it all over.”

“I just told you, I cannot—”

Stiger held up a hand, forestalling the man’s protestations. He glanced over at his father once more, before turning back to the merchant. It was time to outflank the man. This was Stiger’s battlefield, not Jevenus’s. “I have in my possession an Adava. A bust of the finest quality, of Centurion Dio.”

Stiger’s father sucked in an unhappy breath and looked over sharply at his son. Ignoring Marcus, Stiger kept his gaze fixed upon the merchant, who straightened and licked his lips.

“An Adava? Surely not! Carved by the master’s own hand and not one of his assistants? You own such a rare item?”

“It has been with our family for generations,” Marcus said unhappily, then turned to Stiger. “Son, that bust of Dio is worth more than one grain shipment, more like six or perhaps even seven such deliveries.”

“I know.” Stiger looked over at his father and saw simmering heat in his gaze. He turned back and looked on Jevenus. “After the civil war, Tioclesion seized the bust from our family, among other items, wealth, and of course most of our lands and estates. When I claimed the throne, I took rightful possession of the Adava.”

“I see, Imperator,” Jevenus said. “I can understand your desire to get such a priceless relic back.” Jevenus licked his lips again. It seemed like a nervous habit when the man became excited. “Why, may I ask, are you bringing this up?”

Stiger well knew the man before him was not an idiot. He was just delicately confirming what was being offered in exchange for the grain.

“You cannot do this,” Marcus said. “Your mother loved that bust. She used to display it proudly for guests to marvel on its perfection.”

Until his father had mentioned it, Stiger had not known she had treasured the bust. He had nothing of value left from his mother, other than memories, and those were beginning to fade. Sucking in a breath, he hardened his heart for what needed to be done. “And now we will give it away for a good cause, feeding the city, this time willingly. We need the grain too much, Father. Surely you can see that.”

“Very well,” Marcus said after a long moment, clearly giving in. “In the name of the empire, do what you must.”

“You have a deal, Imperator,” Jevenus said hastily, when Stiger turned back to him.

“Not so fast,” Stiger said. “There are conditions.”

“Conditions?” A suspicious look passed over Jevenus’s face as the man’s brows drew together. “What are you thinking?”

“First, with this exchange, you will guarantee the next four grain shipments beyond this one and without additional payment or delay. When the senate gets around to paying you what you are owed, that money will be forwarded onto my house.”

“All right.” Jevenus gave a slow nod. “I find that agreeable. What are the other conditions?”

“You will tell everyone who asks, and even those who don’t, that you were paid fully in gold from the treasury and the Adava was a personal gift from me to your family. Call it a reward for your service to the empire or even my friendship. You wife enjoys expensive things … the Adava is a gift fit for an empress.”

Jevenus gave another slow nod, even as a tight smile began to spread across his lips. Stiger was giving him a deal of a lifetime and he knew it.

“Easily enough done, Imperator. Is that all?”

“Yes, I think so,” Stiger said, then hardened his tone and leaned forward in the Curule Chair, placing a palm on his knee. With his other hand, he pointed a finger at the merchant. “If I hear you have violated the terms of our arrangement in even the slightest manner, said something other than you should, I will take back the Adava, confiscate your lands, holdings, and all your assets. Your family will be sold into slavery, and you will be publicly executed as a spy. I will carry out that sentence with my own hand.”

There was a long moment of silence. Jevenus had gone very still. The blood ran from the merchant’s face as he paled. When he spoke, he swallowed first. “I well know the reputation of your family, Imperator. There is no need for threats.”

“Threats? Who said anything about threats?” Stiger relaxed a little in the chair, leaning back. “Let us be clear. I do not make threats.”

Jevenus swallowed again before clearing his throat. “I understand. The deal you propose is quite satisfactory, Imperator. Five total shipments of grain for the dole, in exchange for the Adava bust of Centurion Dio. I will tell everyone I was paid in imperial talons, and when the senate pays me what is owed, those proceeds will go to your house. Is our understanding on this matter correct?”

“Ruga,” Stiger snapped, looking up.

“Sir.” Ruga came to attention.

“The bust of Centurion Dio that is in my personal quarters, do you know it?”

“I do sir,” Ruga said. “Your father showed it to me and had my men move it there last night. He said it was near priceless and that we shouldn’t drop the bloody thing. I am pleased to say we didn’t.”

“See that it is crated up in the presence of Jevenus here,” Stiger said.

“Aye, sir.”

“Then organize an escort of men back to his house outside the city,” Stiger said. “Make certain he and the Adava get there safely. At that point, your duty will be discharged, Centurion.”

“They will get there, sir, and with that bust too,” Ruga affirmed. “I will personally see to it.”

Stiger turned back to Jevenus. “Is that satisfactory?”

“Very, Imperator,” Jevenus said. “It is very generous of you. I thank you on behalf of my entire family. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“I am so pleased you see it in such a light.” Stiger regarded the man for a long moment. He resisted the urge to smile, for now it was time to let the real coin drop, the one made of gold. “In a month’s time, an offer will be made to your house.”

“An offer?” Jevenus asked. “I am not quite sure where you are going with this, Imperator.”

“You will receive an offer to join the senatorial class,” Stiger said plainly. At his side, Marcus shifted ever so slightly with evident surprise.

Jevenus’s mouth fell open, wide enough to catch flies, then it snapped closed. A moment later, an absolute look of horror came over his face. His mouth opened again and then closed. Stiger thought it almost comical.

“I do not seek such an honor, Imperator,” Jevenus said, finally finding his voice. “I am content being an equite. There are advantages to being an equestrian, especially in my line of work. When such an offer comes, I will politely decline. My place as a merchant is with the people, not the nobility.”

“My dear Jevenus, you misunderstand me,” Stiger said quietly. “This is a well-earned reward for your loyal service to the empire. When the offer comes, you will join the senatorial class.”

“And pay the required fee to advance your family socially,” Marcus said. Stiger could sense the grim amusement in his father as he realized what Stiger was doing.

“Two million talons in gold?” Jevenus fairly choked.

“Two and a half million,” Marcus said. “A few months back, the senate raised the price of admission. Then there is the annual retaining fee and the required assets to maintain your senatorial standing.”

“One million gold talons annually and another twenty million in holdings and lands.” Jevenus had gone red in the face. “There is more freedom being an equite and no need to pay fees other than common transactional taxes. If I advance in status, we will be unable to retain the grain dole contracts. Such things are below senatorial standing.” Anger crept in Jevenus’s tone. “If I accept, it’ll beggar me!”

“What I’m offering is a bargain of sorts,” Stiger said, “especially in light of the Adava you are getting. I am certain you will be pleased to not only to join the nobility, but also proudly display such a fine bust of Centurion Dio within your home.”

“But—but two and a half million gold talons upfront and loss of the contracts?” Jevenus hissed. “I’d have to sell a quarter of my holdings and investments to pay the admittance sum alone!”

“That’s why I am giving you a month,” Stiger said, “so you can accumulate the required funds.”

“And the loss of my contracts?” Jevenus hissed. “That is a substantial portion of my income. Are you looking for a bribe, a loan? Is this an extortion attempt?” Jevenus asked with heat, glancing between them. “If you are, I am wealthy, but I don’t have the sums you will need to keep the empire afloat, especially if that bastard Magnus ran off with the treasury.”

“I’m looking for your acceptance to the senate, the elevation of your family to the nobility.” Stiger shifted to a more comfortable position in the Curule Chair. “Besides, laws can be changed, and when the senate convenes next, a number of laws will be modified for the benefit of the empire.”

Jevenus did not immediately respond as he clearly thought on what Stiger had just said. He licked his lips again. “You’re saying I can keep the grain dole contracts? I can join the senatorial class and retain my family’s income?”

Stiger glanced over at his father in question to make sure he wasn’t crossing a line or promising too much.

“That can be arranged … between friends,” Marcus said. “With the installation of a new emperor, it is typical to renegotiate major contracts. Perhaps you might even see yourself making it easier on the empire by lowering your dole management fees to say, five percent, maybe even a little more, perhaps four and a half percent. We both know you can still cover your costs and then some at that rate. If you play your dice right, Jevenus, your house will be allowed to keep the family business for years to come. Then again, we might even find something more lucrative for you in the months ahead, such as appointing you tax collector for a province, a governorship even … provided you are loyal, especially when it comes to the senate.”

“I see.” Jevenus rubbed his hands together as he shrewdly studied the two of them. “I still don’t like it, but I do not have a choice here, do I?”

“No,” Stiger said, “you do not.”

“Once I accept and leave this room,” Jevenus said, “my fortunes will be tied to yours. If you are deposed, or something happens to you, say you are assassinated, then my family suffers, for the senate is clearly not standing with you at the moment. If they were, they’d be in the city and in session.”

“You seem to be seeing matters with open eyes,” Stiger said.

“Your influence in the provinces runs deep,” Marcus said. “I am sure you will do all you can to support the new emperor with your client network.”

Jevenus eyed Marcus for a long moment.

“And,” Stiger said, “the senate will support me soon enough.”

“I will pray that such a thing comes to pass.” Jevenus bowed his head in surrender. “When the offer comes, I will of course humbly accept this great honor, Imperator.”

“Excellent.” Stiger inclined his head. “Your flexibility on this matter will be remembered.”

“You are quite gracious, Imperator,” Jevenus said sourly.

“You have my permission to withdraw,” Stiger said with a wave of his hand. “Thank you for coming to see us. It has been a pleasure.”

Jevenus inclined his head again and took two steps backward before turning and moving toward the exit. The centurion opened one of the doors for the merchant, whose shoulders had slumped as he turned. Ruga followed him out, closing the doors behind him.

“That was smartly done,” Marcus said. “At least we have the grain dole sorted for half a year. It is one less headache.” Marcus glanced toward the door. “By elevating him to the nobility, you have made him a direct client of ours, an unwilling one admittedly, but one nonetheless. In time, as the benefits become plain, he will warm to the idea. More important, all we gave him was that overpriced bust.”

Stiger turned to his father, astonished. “I thought you said Mom loved that thing?”

“Bah,” Marcus said. “She loathed it and thought it gaudy. Why do you think it ended up in the foyer and not our personal quarters? Once I figured out where you were going, I was only too eager to play along.”

“Then why bother to keep it? Let alone display it?”

“A wise man makes investments,” Marcus said. “Investments in people, holdings, lands, and things like an Adava. You don’t keep all of your money in gold and silver. After I bought it, I thought to sell it in a few years for a profit. When I tried, no one would take it off my hands for what I wanted. I came to regret owning the damned thing and thought I had made a mistake.”

Stiger gave a slow nod. “And yet, the emperor took it all the same.”

“True,” Marcus said. “And because I offered it up to him, we were able to keep our ancestral home here in the capital. Now it seems that bust serves us once more.”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate this job?” Stiger said with a weary breath.

“The confederacy would have taken his wheat,” Taha’Leeth said from the window, “then had that man sacrificially executed before a mob looking for blood. They would have happily sent his soul onto Valoor and let their god sort things out for the next life.”

“This is not the confederacy,” Stiger said.

“No,” Taha’Leeth said, “it is not. That much has been made abundantly clear.”

One of the doors opened and an older man wearing a simple blue tunic stepped into the throne room. Stiger looked over and spotted his new palace steward, Lekentius. Marcus had selected him. He was a family servant who had retired some years before. When Stiger had been a child, the man had overseen the other servants and slaves of the house.

“Should I send in the next one, sir?” Lekentius asked in a voice made raspy by advanced age. “There’s quite a line.”

“No doubt.” Stiger stood and stretched out his back. It had been one audience and one headache after another marching in all morning. Stiger was sick of it. He stepped down from the raised dais that the Curule Chair sat upon and went over to the window where Taha’Leeth stood. The window looked out upon the imperial city. He turned to look back over at the steward. “Give me a moment, will you?”

Lekentius bowed his head and stood with his back toward the door, clearly preparing himself to wait patiently.

Though it was bitterly cold, the winter sun was out, and the sky overhead was incredibly blue. The High Father’s temple, the roofing tiles capped in gold paint, shone brilliantly, flaring with reflected light. It was almost blinding in its intensity. Gazing upon the temple, Stiger felt a calming of his spirit.

He turned his gaze from it to his family’s house, searching it out from amongst the jumble of buildings of the city. He rubbed at his tired eyes, for he seemed to have inherited nothing but headaches since being named emperor.

Behind him, someone entered the throne room. Stiger glanced over and saw a messenger bearing a tablet approaching, making for his father. No doubt it was more bad news. Just this morning, word had come that two cities, both north of Asti along the eastern coast, had fallen to the confederacy. They hadn’t put up much, if any, of a fight.

With Taha’Leeth at his side, he turned his gaze back to the window and gazed outward. Even though he had only been here a few days, he was beginning to feel trapped here in the capital, stuck dealing with minor issues while the world around him burned.

“I have never much enjoyed cities. Too much of a jumble, too many people.” Taha’Leeth let out an unhappy breath. “Even elven cities are not to my taste.”

Stiger glanced over at his wife. “Neither have I. For the last few years, my home has been wherever I’ve rested my head, in the field, sleeping on my arms, or in a tent. I’ve never felt comfortable in cities either, at least not since I was a child and the civil war. They are too crowded.”

“Perhaps that is one of the reasons why we fit so well together,” Taha’Leeth said, “why we were meant to be, fated for one another.”

Stiger looked over at her. It was as if a fist had gripped his heart, so great was his love for her. As she gazed out at the city, her hand absently went to the slight bump of her belly. Just above the bump, under the green dress, he could also see the bulge where she was bandaged from the wound that had almost taken her from him. He had nearly lost them both to an assassination attempt by elves, her own people.

Stiger had been so frightened for her and the baby, he could scarcely think on it without shuddering at the memory of her grievous wound or feeling a burning anger for what had been done, all on the orders of the Cyphan.

And without the healing assistance from Currose, the noctalum, Taha’Leeth would have surely died. Stiger knew he would not have survived her loss, could not have, especially after Sarai.

“Life can be so harsh,” she breathed, her gaze still staring out at the city. “So much suffering. I wish to see no more. Is that too much to ask?”

He reached out a hand to hers and knew what she meant. “Together, we will make a better world. We must, for our child.”

“I know,” she said. “Our children deserve no less.”

“Children?” Stiger asked.

“You do not think we are just going to stop at one, do you?” She raised a delicate eyebrow as she glanced over at him.

“Children, then,” Stiger said, for he would give her whatever she desired. And in truth, Stiger found the thought of multiple children pleasing. “They deserve for us to try.”

“Yes, they do.” Taha’Leeth paused for several heartbeats. “I came after seeing Currose.”

“How is she?” Stiger asked.

“Like me, still recovering. Still, she lends me what will she can spare from her effort.” Taha’Leeth gently touched the place on her stomach where under the dress she was bandaged. “It is a gift beyond generous. We are blessed to have such allies and friends as the noctalum.”

“Yes,” Stiger agreed. “Yes, we are. I miss my friend, Menos. As soon as she’s ready, I am going to get him and that troublesome wizard, Ogg.”

“That trip you wanted to take, the short one, she is up for making it tonight. She told me to tell you.”

Stiger perked up. “That is good news. It will save me several days of travel.”

“She is not ready to make the long journey to find and rescue Menos and Ogg. But feels she will be soon. Between me and her own injuries, she is spending too much of her will.”

“I know.” Stiger gave a nod at that. The great dragon was still healing from her fight from Castor’s minion. Every time she traveled, it took some of her will, what she needed to heal. Bringing Taha’Leeth to the capital had been almost too much. Not only that, but she was sparing some of her precious power to help his wife heal. It was a debt he knew he could never adequately repay.

There was a scuff behind them. Stiger turned to see his father with the messenger’s tablet in hand. The messenger had left and exited the room.

“I need some rest,” Taha’Leeth said, “unless you require my presence, I will take my leave.”

“No,” Stiger said hastily. He was eager for her to fully recover, for the wound she had taken had been a terrible one. There was also the baby to think of. “I will see you later tonight.”

“I look forward to it, husband.” With that, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. The touch of her lips felt like fire against his skin. Then she turned away. Stiger and his father watched her go.

“Never in my wildest dreams would I guess you would come home with a wife, let alone an elven princess,” Marcus said.

“It wasn’t exactly planned,” Stiger admitted, “and it was as much a surprise to me.”

“She is beautiful.”

“And dangerous too,” Stiger agreed, then looked down at the tablet in his father’s hands. “What do you have there?”

“Mechlehnus has yet to respond to us,” Marcus said. “His army stopped marching and has gone into camp. They are no more than eighty miles from the capital. Our latest messenger was intentionally turned away without a reply.”

Stiger turned his gaze back out to the city, not really seeing the magnificent view before him. He felt another stab of frustration overtake him. That army needed to march to confront the Castol. He could ill afford to have it sitting still.

“The burden of command is never an easy one,” Marcus said with not a whole lot of sympathy.

“I know,” Stiger breathed.

“There’s a good chance a portion of the senate is likely with him,” Marcus said, “those that supported Lears. They may be pulling the strings. If we can force them to return, you will have the quorum you require.”

“I am going to have to go visit him, get him to acknowledge my authority, bend him to my will.”

“That or take the legions from him,” Marcus said, “by force if needed.”

“I would prefer not to do that. We need all the seasoned field commanders we can get, and Mechlehnus is one of the most experienced we have.”

“You might consider offering the senators who are with him amnesty, forgiveness,” Marcus said. “With the treasury gone, we certainly can’t bribe them to return, and we don’t have any more Adavas to give away.”

The treasury was Stiger’s immediate problem. They had to find a way to pay the empire’s bills. “You are correct. We can’t buy or bribe them to our side. I’m not even sure I would want to do that if I could. The next time they hold their hands out, the cost will be greater.”

“That means you will have to offer our enemies amnesty and win the others over. So tell me, my son. How are you going to do that?”

Stiger shifted his gaze back out to the city. He He did not immediately speak as he gathered his thoughts. He rested his hand upon the sword hilt and felt the tingle shoot up his arm. Rarokan was where Stiger had left him, still locked in his prison.

“I don’t know,” Stiger said. “Do you think the High Priest went to Mechlehnus?”

“In that the treasury is there? That would make things easy.” After a moment, Marcus shook his head. “I doubt it’s there. Magnus is not stupid. He’d not put so much wealth within reach of Mechlehnus. Perhaps the priest was in league with Handi. For all we know, it might even be on the way to the confederacy.”

“We don’t know much at this point,” Stiger said unhappily.

“No, we don’t. Until we learn more, it is all speculation.”

“How long did the latest messenger take to get here?” Stiger asked. “Do you know?”

“From Mechlehnus’s army,” Marcus said and thought for a moment, “using the courier network and changing mounts at every post, is about twelve hours’ travel time.”

“So, a full day, now, just to get a reply or have our messenger turned away,” Stiger said.

“Are you thinking of sending another personal letter?” Marcus asked. “Sending one so soon after the last will demonstrate weakness.”

“No, not this time. Something a little more personal is in order.” Stiger took in a deep breath, feeling the frustration of the moment. “Before this is all over, I am going to have to demonstrate absolute power, and that might include Magnus, if we catch him. Mechlehnus too.”

“Yes, you will,” Marcus said firmly. “A leader, an emperor, must make examples that no one can misunderstand. Such things keep others from challenging or even questioning your authority. You can be loved and adored by the people, but sometimes that is simply not enough. Fear is a powerful weapon, a tool that cannot be overlooked.”

“When I act, it won’t be pretty,” Stiger said.

“I expect it will not be, but when you act, make sure it is necessary, son.”

Stiger turned away and walked back to the throne. Lekentius was still waiting. Stiger considered sitting down but then decided to remain standing. His back ached from having sat on the unforgiving chair all day. Though it looked impressive, Stiger’s throne was anything but comfortable.

“Lekentius, who is next?” Stiger asked.

“Captain Harex, sir,” Lekentius said. “After that, it is minor functionaries and leaders from around the city, seeking to curry or ask for a favor.”

“I asked for Harex to present himself first thing in the morning,” Stiger said. “It’s midafternoon. What happened?”

“It took longer than expected to locate the captain,” Lekentius said. “No one knew where he was staying in the city.”

Stiger well recalled the militia officer. The man had met him at the city’s gate when he had first arrived. Emperor Lears’s agent, Sensetta, had been there. The meeting had not ended well for Sensetta, and yet, Stiger had been impressed by the old veteran. Harex had been a former sergeant who had been mustered out of the legion and then had taken command of a militia company when the bottom of the barrel had been scraped for seasoned officers.

“Send him in,” Stiger said.

“Yes, sir.” Lekentius moved to the door, opening it, and called out, “Captain Harex, you’re up, old boy.”

“We’re going to have to get someone more polished than Lekentius,” Marcus said quietly as he returned to Stiger’s side. “That or give him lessons on refinement, etiquette, and proper decorum. Heck, that dog’s so old, I don’t even know if he’d be capable of learning new tricks.”

“I will let you work on that one,” Stiger said to his father. “I have enough headaches as it is.”

“Very well,” Marcus said. “I will see what can be done with him.”

Stiger looked over at his father. “We must rebuild the bureaucracy. With what Handi did to it, I am putting you in charge of that effort too.”

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” Marcus said with a lack of conviction.

“I am sure it will be loads of fun.” Stiger gave an amused grunt. “Duty can be a merciless bitch.”

“Who told you that one?” Marcus asked curiously.

“You did,” Stiger growled. “Just before I set out for the legions. Those were your parting words to me. I can’t tell you how much they warmed my heart at the time.”

“It certainly sounds like something I would say.” Marcus gave an amused chuckle. “Is it too late to tell you I love you, son?”

Stiger looked over at his father and fought off a scowl.

“I do love you,” Stiger’s father added with a slight smirk. “And despite what you thought for years, I’ve always loved you.”

Stiger felt his scowl deepen.

“Captain Harex, Imperator,” Lekentius announced, drawing their attention and sparing Stiger from a reply.

Limping badly, Harex entered through the two doors and passed by Lekentius, who stepped out, closing the doors behind him with a thudding boom.

Like before, Harex wore his old legionary armor. The armor was well-maintained and had been freshly cleaned. The captain hesitated, eyeing them before advancing farther into the throne room. He was clearly uncomfortable amidst the splendor of the palace that surrounded him. Stiger settled his full attention on the militia captain, a regular grunt, as he approached the last few feet. Over the long years, Stiger had known so many others just like him.

The man’s face was badly scarred from multiple cuts he’d taken in battle years before. One of the scars cut through his bottom lip, marring it terribly. He was also missing his right eye and walked with a noticeable limp that was little more than a hobble.

Harex came up to Stiger, stiffened to attention, and offered a legionary salute. “I am pleased to see you well and healthy, Imperator.”

“You too, Captain,” Stiger said, clearly understanding the man’s meaning. Had Stiger failed in defeating Lears and taking back the Curule Chair, Harex would likely have been executed for allowing Stiger into the city, even though he hadn’t had a choice in the matter. Stiger had not given him one.

“How is your command?” Stiger asked. “Have you whipped them into shape yet?”

“I’m in the process of doing that, sir. It takes more than a couple of weeks to make good soldiers, let alone heartbreakers.”

“That it does.” Stiger regarded the captain for a long, silent moment. He had a good feeling about the man, and besides, Harex was one of the few officers Stiger knew in the city. “How would you like more responsibility?”

Harex fixed Stiger with his good eye. “Does it come with a pay increase, sir? Because my current pay is shit, if you don’t mind me saying so. The militia pays less than the legions.”

“It will,” Stiger said. He wanted to add that it would when the treasury was replenished but did not voice that thought.

“What’s the job, sir?” Harex asked, his solitary eye narrowing. “I’m game.”

The man had been discharged from the legions for disability. And until he had been appointed captain of a militia company, he’d been likely living on his meager pension and the grain dole.

“I want you to command the city’s militia,” Stiger said.

Harex’s good eye went wide. “I’m just a jumped-up, disabled veteran, sir. Surely there are better choices. That’s a gentleman’s job.”

“Veteran is the key word, and you are an experienced legionary. That’s what I need right now. I don’t need, or want, a gentleman. What do you say? I need a tough old bastard to whip the militia into shape and make them into a credible fighting force, one capable of not only standing in a scrap, but defending the city and keeping the peace, one that is loyal to me and me alone. Think you can do that for me?”

Harex was silent for a long moment as he clearly thought it through. “I can give it a shot, sir.”

“Fair enough,” Stiger said. “You are now Prefect Harex. Congratulations.”

“Prefect, sir?” Harex took a hobbling step back. “You’re making me a bloody gentleman? Really?”

“Aye. I expect loyalty foremost, duty and attention to detail when it comes to your new command. I will tolerate nothing less.”

Harex stiffened his posture as a look of resolve came over his scarred face. “You will have it, then. Thank you for this opportunity, sir.”

“Good,” Stiger said. “When there is time in the days ahead, we will have a loyalty ceremony for the militia.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You will report directly to my father, here.”

Harex’s gaze snapped to Marcus. “It will be my honor to serve under your command, sir.” To Stiger he said, as he puffed out his chest, “Thank you again for this opportunity, Imperator. You will not be disappointed, and I will not let you down.”

“I expect not. Crack heads, fire incompetent officers, do whatever you have to do to shape up your command. You will have my full backing.”

“Prefect,” Marcus said, drawing Harex’s attention, “get some food from the palace kitchen. Then find my quarters. I will meet you there in about two hours’ time, when I’m done here. We will speak further on your duties. Understand?”

“I do, sir.”

“Good,” Marcus said. “Dismissed.”

“Aye, sir.” Harex snapped crisply to attention and then saluted fist to chest. He turned and stumped to the door, opened it, and, with a glance back at Stiger, left the throne room.

“He will need a good executive officer,” Stiger said to his father, “someone who will tell us all that goes on with the militia. That person will have to do that, at least until Harex proves himself loyal and competent at the job.”

“I know of a retired sergeant,” Marcus said. “He’s old, but he’s reliable and will report what is what with the militia.”

“Excellent,” Stiger said, “make him the militia’s senior centurion and get him together with Harex as soon as possible.”

“What of the current militia commander?” Marcus asked.

“What was his name again?” Stiger asked. “You told me but … ”

“Selix.”

“Has he presented himself?”

“No,” Marcus said. “No one can find him, either. He was Lears’s man and a client of that bastard’s family. He likely fled the city after you killed his master. That doesn’t mean he won’t pop up later at some point to cause us trouble.”

“Then he is an enemy,” Stiger said. “Have his rank and standing officially divested. If he shows himself, arrest him. We can decide what to do with him after we have him cooling his heels in a cell.”

“Ready for the next person, sir?” Lekentius asked, entering.

“I’m tired of this,” Stiger admitted wearily to his father.

“Duty can be a merciless bitch,” Marcus said with a trace of a grin.

“Yes, it can,” Stiger agreed, feeling somewhat amused at hearing this from his father again. He grew serious and, thinking on the message Taha’Leeth had brought him from Currose, made a decision. “I am going to leave tonight and see Mechlehnus in the morning, give it a personal touch.”

“Are you certain that is wise?” Marcus asked. “You are going to fly there, yes? On the dragon?”

“It needs to be done,” Stiger said. “And the sooner the better. I need his army moving again. The Castol must be checked and defeated before the Cyphan start marching north in strength. We cannot allow our enemies to combine armies. If that happens, we are done.” Stiger’s gaze went back to Lekentius, even as he spoke to his father. “Besides, I have not been idle these last few days. Mechlehnus will come to heel, one way or another.”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked him. “What have you done?”

Ignoring his father, Stiger raised his voice. “Lekentius, send in the next one, will you?”

Chapter Four

The hour was late as Stiger swept through the empty corridors of the palace. Ruga and two of his legionaries trailed a few feet behind. The hobnails of their sandals echoed hollowly off the plastered walls as they moved. Since night had fallen, the only light was from the occasional oil lantern hanging overhead, giving a yellowed cast to the painted and decorated walls, the statues and busts that seemed to sprout up every few feet.

The palace was nearly silent. Only a handful of the many lanterns had been lit, another reminder of the dire financial straits the empire was in. They went from light to darkness and then light again as they moved steadily through the corridors.

Several turns and a few hundred yards of walking brought them to the portion of the palace that comprised the imperial residence. It was separated by a guarded door from the public side. Two of Spatz’s men snapped crisply to attention, while a third hastened to open the door and then stood aside and came to attention himself.

They were greeted by bright light, for all the overhead lanterns ahead had been lit. Almost immediately, they began encountering palace servants. Most were industrious, cleaning, sweeping, dusting, and scrubbing at the marble floors with thick-bristled brushes.

After days of a lack of attendance, and months where emperor Tioclesion had not been in residence, there was now plenty to do. Stiger had learned that Lears, fearing for his safety, had sent most of the servants home and only staffed the palace with loyal retainers and personal slaves from his own family estates.

As Stiger and his escort drew near, the servants respectfully ceased their work, stepped against the wall, and bowed their heads as he passed. At first, absorbed in his own worries of what he must accomplish in the coming hours and days, Stiger hardly noticed them.

He was tired, weary from a long day, and feeling dissatisfied at his many problems, which weighed heavily upon his shoulders and seemed to multiply with each passing hour. The day had yielded few victories and even less satisfaction in a job well-done. In fact, grain dole aside, Stiger felt like he had managed to accomplish very little of substance.

“Gotta start somewhere,” Stiger muttered to himself. “Like building up a new infantry company from scratch, you begin with small things and then go from there.”

As he turned a corner, a young woman was square in his path, busy scrubbing the floor with the bristled brush she held tightly in one hand. Blocking his way and with wide eyes at his sudden appearance, she hastily scrambled up from her hands and knees to her feet. Stepping back and against the wall, she bowed to him as he passed her by.

“Excuse me, sar,” the girl said with a thick, odd accent Stiger could not immediately place. She was barely out of her teens. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, which had been braided, and wore a rough-spun gray dress. A bucketful of brackish water sat by her feet, smelling strongly of ammonia. Stiger had to step around it.

He felt himself frown as he passed. Something about her had caught his attention, almost nagging at it, as it dragged him from his thoughts.

Perhaps it was her dress, which was cut different from the other servants. The collar went up high against and around her neck. It was an unusual style, but that might have just been because it was cold, both outside and inside the palace, being winter after all.

He glanced back and found her gaze fixed upon him. It was firm, unafraid, and oddly inviting. It may have even been her eyes that had snagged his attention. They were an unusual pale blue. She was clearly a foreigner and a slave by her dress.

After a few more steps, he ground to a halt and looked both ways down the corridor. The nearest servants held their positions, including the girl. He looked back on her. For a moment their gazes locked, then demurely, with intentional shyness, she looked away and lowered her eyes to the ground.

“Sir?” Ruga asked, for he had stopped his men too. “Is something wrong?”

Was she trying to get noticed? There were always servants and slaves willing to trade sexual favors for money, power, status, better positions, the list went on.

Well, he thought as he regarded her, she’d get nothing from him. Any such advances would not be welcome, at least in his quarter. No one could compare to his wife, not now, not ever. Stiger turned his gaze to the other servants and studied them for a long moment.

A couple of the men looked to be in their prime. They were big and strapping and could easily have been soldiers or better suited to the gladiatorial schools. Had they not been slaves, they would have been eligible for service with the legions and likely conscripted, especially under the current threat of the confederacy’s invading army.

Stiger resisted a scowl. He supposed they were foreigners and had been enslaved during a war with the empire or perhaps had even lived in occupied lands that had risen up against their overlords.

“Ruga,” he asked his centurion, “who are these people?”

“Palace servants, sir,” Ruga said, as if that had been so abundantly obvious even the village idiot could have deduced such a thing.

“I know that.” Stiger let exasperation leak into his tone. “Yesterday, I saw maybe one or two servants in the entire palace. Tonight, since we’ve entered the residence, we’ve passed dozens. So, where did they come from?”

“Ah, that, sir.”

“Yes, that,” Stiger said.

“Most just returned to duty, sir.” Ruga lowered his voice and took a step closer. “Your father thought that by filling the palace with servants—well, it would give the impression we had what we needed, funds-wise, to run things. There was also some talk of purchasing educated slaves from the market to take on a few of the more advanced clerical tasks. You know … the kind that require reading and numbers, sir.”

Eyeing the servants, Stiger gave an unhappy nod. He understood the necessity of it all and what his father was trying to accomplish. He did not have to like it, but he well understood it.

“I was told a few are retired servants from your family, along with clients in need of a job. Others are long-standing palace staff, and some are from the senatorial families that fled the city and abandoned their servants to their own devices. Your father snapped up a bunch of those, sir, when they inquired about work.” Ruga glanced at the young girl. She shot the centurion a sidelong look that spoke of boldness. “And honestly, some are not so bad to look at, sir. Besides, they needed a home, sir, and some food. It seems there are a lot of hungry people out in the city. I’m told the city is chock-full of refugees.”

Stiger had not known refugees were beginning to fill up the city. He filed that tidbit of information away and made a mental reminder to ask his father about that, for they would have to find a way to feed them. If they didn’t, it was bound to lead to trouble. Hungry people were desperate people.

Perhaps, he thought, this might ultimately prove to be an opportunity, one to help boost recruitment for the legions and auxiliaries. For where people were poor and hungry, the legions offered a way out, an escape that included a full belly. And Stiger knew they would soon desperately need all the soldiers that could be mustered.

He resisted a sigh. It was yet one more headache to worry on and another problem amongst many to solve. He eyed the servants once more and wondered how he was going to manage to pay for all of them, then decided to shove that concern aside for the moment, though he was pleased his father was taking on some of the more mundane challenges that needed tackling.

“All right,” Stiger said. “Ruga, I’m leaving in a couple of hours. Like we discussed, I want you to have a detail of men ready to accompany me, no more than a dozen. The rest remain here.”

“They will be ready, sir,” the centurion affirmed, then hesitated a heartbeat. “But, as I’d already said so, I’d still feel more comfortable going with you.”

“I know, but I’ll feel more comfortable with you here, watching after my father and wife.”

“Still, sir,” Ruga pressed, “my place is at your side. It has been, ever since we left Vrell.”

“Father Restus, Eli, and Therik are going with me, not to mention a noctalum. I’ll be fine. I should be back no later than nightfall. If I have any enemies left in this city, my family is my weak point, and I know I can count on you to see that they are safe. I trust no other to do so but you, my friend.”

Though he did not look terribly pleased, Ruga gave a firm nod, clearly understanding the matter had been firmly decided and Stiger would not be swayed.

“I will look after her, sir. Have no fear. When it concerns your father, there is a detail with him now. They will follow him wherever he goes. Captain Spatz provided the extra men, and your father took quarters just down from your own, sir. It will make it easier to protect them both.”

“Very good,” Stiger said as he looked down the corridor. Ahead were two guards standing to either side of a thick oak door. This was the entrance to the emperor’s private quarters. Taha’Leeth would be waiting inside. His heart started beating a little faster at just the thought of seeing her and spending some quiet time together.

Ruga followed Stiger’s gaze.

“Are you certain she’s gonna wanna stay, sir?”

“Certain? When it comes to my wife?” Stiger felt a bubble of amusement. He’d discovered Taha’Leeth was an incredibly complex individual. She firmly had a mind of her own and did as she pleased.

“I understand, sir,” Ruga said sagely. “My own wife is at times hard to figure out.”

Stiger had known that the centurion was married, but it got him thinking on the man’s personal sacrifice. He, like many others, had left a lot behind, including loved ones, especially those from the valley cohorts.

“Miss her?” Stiger asked.

“Some days, yes, some days, no,” Ruga said. “My wife is one tough nut, sir. If you think I’m difficult, you ain’t seen nothing. In a wager, I’d back her over any man in the legion, if it came to a fair fight, sir, and she don’t fight fair. Give her a short sword and she’s a terror. When we were kids, I once saw her bring down an orc warrior with her father’s sword during a raid on our village. Saved my hairy ass too while she was doing it, gods bless her. I knew right then and there she was the one for me.”

“A wife fit for a grizzled old centurion, then,” Stiger said, trying to imagine Ruga’s woman. He failed.

“Absolutely, sir,” Ruga said with evident pride. “It ain’t been all love and kisses, but it’s been a good marriage. She calls me on my shit, sir, and I’d not have it any other way.”

“She sounds a little like my own wife. One day, I hope to meet her.”

“I’m sure she’d be pleased by the honor, sir,” Ruga said, then glanced toward the door. “If Taha’Leeth decides to stay, I will personally stand guard on your wife until your return. You have my word on that, sir. She’ll be safe as a newborn babe.”

Stiger felt a fondness for the old valley centurion. They had been through a lot together and he trusted Ruga not only with his life, but his wife and unborn child. It was good to have such a man in his service, for true loyalty could not be bought, only earned.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, sir.”

Stiger turned away and moved down the hall. The two guards waiting before the entrance to his personal quarters snapped to attention, then the one on the right turned crisply and opened the door. It revealed a short passage that led first to a sitting room. He hesitated a moment and glanced back at the centurion. He’d once left a woman he’d cared for deeply, and that had not turned out well. When the orcs had attacked Vrell Valley, Stiger had not been there to defend and save her. He had a flash of the ruined farm and the tree where he and Theo had buried her. The thought of what had happened to Sarai, the anguish at her loss, still burned at him.

“I understand, sir,” Ruga said with feeling. “I’ve billeted myself and ten extra men, the best of my boys, in the next suite over, sir.” He gestured farther down the corridor to a set of doors. “It’s no more than ten yards away. Should there be any trouble while you are gone, we’ll be there for your wife and father, sir. You can count on that.”

“Very well, Centurion. Carry on.” Satisfied, Stiger stepped into the emperor’s suite, moving down the short hallway and into the sitting room. The door closed behind him, and through the thick oak, he could faintly hear his escort and Ruga moving off.

The sitting room had a pair of matching couches and a reclining sofa. An ornate clay oil lamp, shaped like a fish, sat on a small round table next to the sofa. It burned with a small flame and provided the space with dim but serviceable light.

The walls had been painted by what could only be described as a master artist, and grandly too. In intricate detail, the paintings depicted the story of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. Stiger supposed it was all meant as a reminder to the emperor as to the heritage of his people. Stiger had thought at one time that Rome had been only a fabled place of myth and legend, nothing more. Now, he knew different.

Rome was only too real.

He eyed the imagery of the brothers suckling from the teat of a wolf. The strength of Rome flowed through his veins. Stiger was directly related to the first emperor, Karus, who had led the Ninth Roman Legion to Istros and founded the empire. He felt a fit of anger stab at him and balled his fists. Before this was all over, his enemies would feel that strength.

“By the High Father and all that is holy,” Stiger breathed, “I swear it to be so.”

Stiger let out a breath and with it released his anger. It was time to relax and spend some quiet time with the woman he loved. He turned away from Romulus and Remus and pressed onward to his bedchambers ahead.

Another short hallway led to a door, which he opened. The well-oiled hinges made barely a sound as it swung wide, revealing his sleeping chamber. It was a large room, with a bed big enough for three, maybe even four, a reclining couch, a desk, a table, and several cushioned chairs. Stiger supposed the chairs were too comfortable for an old soldier like him. The bed was covered over in a thick fur blanket.

A chamber led off to the left. This was the emperor’s closet. Tioclesion’s personal items and clothing had yet to be removed. Stiger supposed, with the servants’ return, that would soon change.

The broad windows that looked out onto the palace grounds had not only been shuttered, but covered over in rich, patterned tapestries to keep the heat in, and the room was much warmer than the hallway had been. A fire crackled in the hearth and filled the bedroom with not only warmth, but also a flickering light that he thought relaxing. Plush rugs covered much of the polished marble floor.

On the other side of the bed was another room, to which the door was closed. This one had aqueduct-fed running water and a place to not only perform a proper toilet, but to relieve oneself. It was a luxury Stiger had not seen since Old City and one he approved of.

At the door, Stiger hesitated. Venthus stood near the bed, upon which Taha’Leeth sat cross-legged. Wearing a short pale blue dress that could almost be described as a tunic, she was drinking deeply from a mug. With a look of distaste and a groan, she handed it back to the slave.

“That’s really terrible,” Taha’Leeth said.

“No doubt,” Venthus said knowingly. “It is a concoction of my own making, my lady. Some sweet wormwood, goji berry, elecampane, and a little witch hazel, along with a dash of a few other ingredients I managed to scrounge up at the market.”

“As I said, terrible.”

“If medicine tastes awful, that means it’s good.” Venthus bowed slightly, as if her comment had pleased him. “It will help you heal, my lady.”

On his side, Dog lay before the fireplace, from which a good-sized fire burned. Enjoying the heat, the animal was snoozing. Eyes opening, he raised his head and eyed Stiger for a long moment. His tail gave a single wag. Then, he seemed to lose interest, for Dog laid his head back down to the carpet and closed his eyes. The message was clear—the warmth and comfort of the fire was too good to ruin by getting up and greeting his master.

Stiger eyed Dog a moment more. By any stretch, he was not the dog’s master. They were more friends than anything else, for Dog was a naverum, one of the mystical guardians of Olimbus, the place where the gods resided. Which god had sent him and why, Stiger had yet to discover.

“Ah, master.” Venthus turned away from Taha’Leeth. “Do you require anything? A drink before bed? Your pipe and some tobacco, perhaps? I am pleased to report I was able to acquire some of the weed when I went to the market today. There was a surprising variety and the merchant I purchased from assured me it was of the finest quality.”

“He will not be smoking in this room,” Taha’Leeth said firmly, “and if he does decide to take a pipe, he will do so in another place and sleep there as well. I cannot abide that smell. It is a nasty vice and one I do not condone.”

A pipe and a fire sounded good, especially after the day he’d had. Instead, Stiger let out a long breath laced heavily with regret and gave Taha’Leeth a pained expression. She shook her head in reply.

“Do not even think of trying to change my mind.”

“Sadly,” Stiger said to Venthus, “I will not require a pipe this evening. Thank you for the effort though. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Can I get you anything else, master? A snack? I have placed a fresh jug of wine on the table and seen that there’s plenty of wood for the fire.”

Stiger looked over at the fire and saw a good stack of chopped wood. It had been cut and split into small chunks that would make it easier to burn. There was enough that it would last the night and then some.

“I am fine, and I won’t be staying that long. You may retire for the night.” Stiger turned his gaze back to Taha’Leeth, drinking her in. “After the day I’ve had, I’d like to spend some quiet time with my wife.”

“Ah, yes, master, of course.” Venthus turned to Taha’Leeth. “In the morning, my lady, as usual, I will come by early to change your dressing. I will also have a new poultice ready for you.”

“Thank you,” Taha’Leeth said. “The last one you applied helped with the discomfort. I appreciate your ministrations, Venthus. You are quite knowledgeable when it comes to herb craft and healing, and we are lucky to have you around.”

“I live but to serve.” With that, Venthus bowed stiffly and then moved past Stiger. A moment later, the door to the outer suite opened and then closed as the slave exited.

“Alone at last,” Taha’Leeth said with a weary smile as she turned her gaze onto him.

“Yes, finally, some peace and quiet,” Stiger said, moving over to the bed. He rubbed at tired eyes a moment. She reached out a hand and took his. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Taha’Leeth said, then eyed him for a long moment. “Carrying the baby, I am so tired—all of the time now. The wound I took only makes it more so.” She paused and released his hand. Her hand fell into her lap. “You are leaving tonight, then?”

“I believe you knew I would be, especially after you came to see me this morning with the news Currose was ready to travel. I won’t be gone that long, only a few hours, at best.”

“You are taking Dog with you,” she said, and it was not a question.

“I am?” Stiger asked and looked over at the animal, who was still lying upon his side. Noticing the attention, Dog watched him with brown eyes that spoke on a keen intelligence within. Stiger had intended on leaving him. He would be added protection for Taha’Leeth.

“Regardless of what you were planning, you are taking that smelly beast with you. At the very least, it will get him out of this room.”

“You hear that, boy?” Stiger asked the dog. “We’re going on a little trip together. I also sense a bath in your future.”

Dog did not bother shifting, but he did offer a slight whine at the mention of the bath. It wasn’t a very convincing protest. After a moment, the warmth of the fire overcame the animal, and as if in acceptance of his fate, he closed his eyes, going back to sleep.

“I’m surprised you’re not insisting on coming,” Stiger said to her.

“I am too tired,” Taha’Leeth admitted wearily. “I need to sleep, and more importantly, I need to recover some strength. With each passing day I get stronger, better. When we go after Menos and Ogg, I intend to be there with you, husband, to fight at your side if need be. The journey to get those two will likely be hard and dangerous.”

Stiger could not help but agree. He went over to the table where the jug lay with two mugs. He poured himself a mug of wine and took a sip. It was rich stuff, with a touch of spice, and had been recently warmed. He took a deeper pull at the mug, savoring it.

“How do you think Mechlehnus will receive you?” Taha’Leeth asked plainly.

“I do not know,” Stiger admitted.

“Mechlehnus would be a fool not to recognize you as the emperor. Especially with the Castol and Cyphan invading your empire.”

“You’d think so.” Stiger took another sip of wine and then, half finished, put the mug back down on the table. He took off his sword harness and moved over to the corner, where he leaned the weapon next to a chair. Stiger glanced over at his armor. It rested in the corner and had been cleaned. The bear pelt lay on a small bench next to the armor. It too had been cleaned and brushed. The armor, as incredible as it seemed, had been Karus’s own. Over the long years, the gnomes at the first emperor’s temple had cared for it.

He felt a stab of resentment that he would soon have to don the armor and leave the woman he had come to love. Stiger consoled himself that it would only be a short trip.

“He has an army and may have aspirations beyond his station,” Stiger said. “Mechlehnus wouldn’t be the first general to attempt to seize control of the empire and think he was its savior.” Stiger paused to suck in a breath as he turned back to her. “And there is a good chance some of the senate is with him. I hope so, at any rate. Still, they might be whispering poisonous stuff in his ear. There’s just no way to tell until the man is standing before me and I can look him in the eye.”

“We need his army,” Taha’Leeth said.

“That is why I am taking the risk of going to see him.” Stiger held his hand up, palm facing her. “And before you say anything, I do not think it such a large risk. He would be crazy to try something against me, especially considering a noctalum will be looking on.”

“That might prove a little unhealthy for him,” Taha’Leeth agreed.

Stiger ran his gaze around the suite once more. Tioclesion had called this place home. It was plush and not to Stiger’s tastes. Thoughts on his late childhood friend brought up more concerns, things that needed doing and something hidden that needed to be found. Stiger almost grimaced at the thought of it.

“What are you thinking about?” Taha’Leeth asked, as a silence had grown up between them.

“The Key,” Stiger said.

“The Key to the World Gate?”

“Yes. I still have no idea where it was hidden. Tioclesion died before I could ask him. We need to find it.” Stiger blew out a breath laced with frustration. “At least, since the Gate can’t be opened yet, it is one concern that can wait a little while.”

“There is another issue, one that might not wait all that long,” Taha’Leeth said.

“And what is that?” Stiger asked, wondering where she was going.

“With the servants back in the palace, word is bound to spread. They can hardly miss me sharing quarters with you, us spending nights together. Servants tend to gossip, you know.”

“True,” Stiger breathed. “We’ll have to make it public knowledge sooner rather than later, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” There was a dangerous lilt to her tone. “You suppose? Are you ashamed of me now? Do you regret marrying me?”

“I am not ashamed of us or you. I could never regret us coming together.”

“In truth, I tease. I do not think you are ashamed of anything you do,” Taha’Leeth said. “It is not within your character.”

“Oh, trust me, I have plenty of regrets. And—there are some things I am ashamed of having done. I just don’t need to give my enemies an advantage they have not earned. And I don’t even like giving them that. Once the senate is back in session and I am confirmed as emperor, things will be different.”

“Yes.” Taha’Leeth grinned at him. “I suppose so, oh great Emperor.”

Stiger felt a bubble of amusement as he bent down and undid his sandals and then placed them aside. Had it not been for the rugs that covered the floor, the stone underneath would have been terribly cold. Even with the fire, the room was still chilly.

“I do not regret us.”

“I know. I pray you never will find cause to.” Taha’Leeth patted the bed. “Come join me, husband.”

“I do not like it here.” Stiger moved over and climbed up and onto the raised bed. The frame creaked as it took his weight. The mattress was stuffed with feathers and was far too comfortable for his tastes. He had slept poorly on it the night before. She looked over at him as he lay down and placed his head upon his pillow. She lay down too, and on their sides, they faced one another.

“Mal’Zeel?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“The palace,” Stiger explained. “If we’re to live here, I want to tear it down and build something new, something more pleasing.”

“Something grander?” She raised a delicate eyebrow at him. Amusement twinkled in her gaze. “Is this a new side of you? I had not realized you were so vain.”

“Something less gaudy, more us.”

Taha’Leeth’s gaze searched his face for a long moment. “Whatever you build, you will come to loathe it just as much.”

“I am not so sure about that.”

“You may not realize it yet, but it is not the building, this palace, that you find disagreeable, but all that comes with it.” Taha’Leeth reached out a hand and cupped his cheek with a palm. Her skin was rough to the touch and calloused. She was, after all, not just the leader of her people, but a ranger. She was also incredibly dangerous and, like him, a killer. “This palace is a building, blocks, stone, wood, decorations, nothing more than that. It doesn’t feel, like, or hate us. It has no soul, no spark of the living.”

Stiger did not say anything as she continued to stare at him with eyes that were deep and captivating. He read sadness there and well knew she had suffered cruelly in her time.

“I have been leader to my people long enough to have similar feelings about the places where I held court, where I ruled with permission and under the eyes of the Valoorian dogs. The Rasensa Sovereign they named me. One day, perhaps, I will tell you how I earned that terrible moniker. But you already know leadership comes with a heavy burden. Leading your entire people is a whole different matter. It is far from an enjoyable experience and, I think, should not be one. So do not put blame upon the place where problems come to be solved and weighty issues dealt with.”

Stiger did not reply as he thought on her words. In truth, he’d never asked for this, never sought the mantle of emperor. But all the same, now that he had the power, he felt compelled to hold onto it and the responsibility that came with it. Stiger had come to believe with all of his heart and being that only one person could do what needed doing, and that was he and he alone.

“In a way, we are trapped, stuck, slaves to duty, to our people,” she said. “There is no real freedom for those like us and never will be. Duty and responsibility are the chains that bind us both and will continue to weigh us down—until the end of our days.”

Stiger did not much enjoy the message. But he understood it and recognized truth when he heard it. A tinge of sadness overcame him as he thought on it some.

“My people and yours,” Taha’Leeth continued, “they deserve our best effort at this, no matter the personal cost. That is what we fight for, them, the future”—her hand went to her belly—“our child as well. It is why we struggle and suffer and lose friends along the way.”

Stiger was quiet for a long moment. “Perhaps, when the time is right, and all of this is done … maybe then we can set our burden aside, pass it onto someone worthy, and find someplace peaceful to settle down.”

“Peaceful?” Taha’Leeth’s gaze went distant as she seemed to think about that for a time. “I am not quite sure what that would be like. I have not known peace for a very, very long time.”

Stiger was about to respond when there came a knock of interruption from the outer door. He let out an unhappy breath. “I can’t get a break, can I?”

The knock came again. A feeling of terrible frustration stole over Stiger as he looked up.

“You’d think I could get some peace, at least for a short while.”

Taha’Leeth grinned at him as the knock came again, a solid series of raps this time, almost pounding.

“Tell me, my love, what were we just talking about?” she asked of him.

Stiger glanced toward the door, knowing what was coming was bad news.

Chapter Five

The knock came once more. Taha’Leeth’s grin widened as her amusement clearly grew.

“I think you should answer it,” she said.

“You think so?”

“Better you than me.”

Groaning, Stiger rolled out of bed and stood. Though he’d very much wanted to, he had never managed to find the time to spar with Therik today. He needed exercise and it would have helped with the frustration, working it out.

Unfortunately, the orc and Eli had gone down into the city to the home where the elven ambassador resided. They had found the place empty, deserted. By the time both had returned and reported to Stiger, it had been too late for some sparring.

Where the ambassador had gone was one more question. No one Eli and Therik had asked seemed to have the answer. The Elantric Warden had supposedly come south with an army. He had learned that from Eli’s father, Tenya’Far.

So, where were the elves? And where had their ambassador gone? It was a mystery to be sure.

The knock came again, this time more insistent.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiger called as he started moving toward the outer door.

By the fireplace, Dog’s head was up, and he was staring at the outer door. Stiger patted the shaggy animal’s head as he passed, then wrinkled his nose.

“The lady’s right. You stink. When we get back, I’m going to speak to Venthus about getting you a bath, old boy,” Stiger said over his shoulder on his way into the sitting room toward the outer door. The sitting room’s floor did not have a rug and the marble was frightfully cold to Stiger’s bare feet.

As he reached for the handle, behind him Dog growled. It was deep, menacing, and froze Stiger in his tracks. He could almost feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the sound of it.

There was another knock on the door, this one more powerful. It shook the doorframe. Out in the hallway, someone gave a deep grunt, then there was the clatter of armor crashing to the ground.

Stiger took a step back. He’d left his sword in the other room, on the far side of the bed. Before he could turn and rush for it, the door crashed open, almost exploding inward and roughly knocking him from his feet and onto his back. He landed hard, painfully, with almost enough force to knock the breath from his lungs.

Holding a short sword like he knew how to use it, a huge man stood framed in the doorway. Beyond him, Stiger had a flash of two men and a woman grappling with a legionary, one of Ruga’s men who had been standing guard outside the door. The other guard was nowhere to be seen. Together, they had brought him to the ground. While the man struggled, the woman produced a dagger and plunged it deeply into the legionary’s gut.

Stiger only had a flash of that, for his gaze went back to the man in the doorway with the sword. The man’s eyes locked onto his and they narrowed dangerously. With murderous intent, he took a step forward, then something gray flew over Stiger and crashed into the man’s chest, driving him forcefully backward and clear out into the corridor where he was slammed into the far wall.

It was Dog.

Snarling, the animal seized upon the man’s arm and shook it violently. The sword went flying, and as it did, the big man began to scream in terror and pain.

Stiger took the opportunity to pull himself to his feet. Just as he did, two men moved by Dog, who had latched onto his victim’s arm and was literally tearing the arm from his body. They rushed into the room, both armed with daggers. The closest, a heavily muscled man, charged him, stabbing out for Stiger’s chest.

Dodging hastily to the side and out of the way of the jab, Stiger grabbed his attacker’s arm and, using the man’s momentum against him, pulled him physically by and deeper into the room. As he did this, Stiger stuck out his leg, neatly tripping his opponent. The man crashed to the floor behind him.

Realizing there was little time, Stiger turned to face the next attacker, an older man who had the look of a retired veteran. He was already stabbing for Stiger’s side, jabbing out.

Throwing himself to the left and against the wall, Stiger just barely managed to dodge the strike. He could feel the blade pluck ever so briefly against his tunic as it tore the fabric. Before he could react, his attacker was on him, hammering a fist into the side of Stiger’s face. The blow was delivered with force and drove his head into the wall, where it banged painfully.

For a moment, the world went white and Stiger found himself stunned as he fell to the floor. Blinking, he looked up at his attacker, who advanced grimly toward him. Stiger shook his head to clear the fog.

“Senator Lesto sends his greetings, Imperator,” the man spat. “He wanted to make sure you knew who it was who ended your reign. By the gods, I hate Stigers. This is gonna be a pleasure.”

With a determined expression, he moved grimly forward to finish Stiger off. Still somewhat stunned, Stiger desperately kicked out with his bare foot and connected with the man’s knee. It wasn’t a crippling blow, to be sure, but it was enough to cause the assailant to stagger and lurch forward as his knee hyperextended.

With a curse, Stiger’s assailant went down to a knee. Stiger threw himself upon the man, knocking him backward and to the ground while grappling for the dagger. Straining, they both struggled against one another.

Out in the corridor there were shouts, cries, curses, and enraged growling from Dog. There were also screams and the sound of steel ringing against steel.

Ignoring everything else, Stiger’s focus was on the fight at hand. It took a few moments, but he was able to get a firm hold on his opponent’s wrist holding the dagger. Then he had the wrist with both hands in a firm embrace. The man hit him with a fist in the jaw as Stiger wrenched and twisted at the hand, trying to rip the dagger free. There came another blow, this time to his cheek, as the fist hammered home once more. Stiger tasted blood and it only served to enrage him.

Like Dog out in the hallway, Stiger gave an animalistic snarl at his opponent and, with a firm hold, slammed the man’s hand as hard as he could into the marble floor, once then twice. Stiger put more force into it, and with the third strike, his opponent cried out as the knuckles in his hand gave a sickening crunch.

Then the blade was free and skittering across the floor.

Stiger lunged for the dagger and snatched it up. In a tangle of arms and legs, as his opponent fought him to regain possession of the blade, Stiger twisted around. He slammed his elbow into the man’s face and felt the jarring and numbing pain of contact shoot up his arm. His opponent’s head snapped back, smacking the tiled floor.

Without hesitation, Stiger plunged the sharp end of the blade into the man’s chest. His opponent gagged as the blade went in deep. Blood almost immediately frothed up from his lips. Stiger’s enemy glared at him with eyes that were impossibly wide and teeth bared in a silent scream. Stiger felt a moment of triumph. It was a mortal strike.

“Give Lesto your own regards when you see him,” Stiger shouted as he pulled the blade out and then plunged it into his opponent’s chest again. “I will send that bastard to join you soon enough.”

Someone crashed into Stiger’s back, falling heavily upon him and knocking him off the dying man. Stiger’s hand was ripped free from the hilt of the dagger, which was still buried in the man’s chest.

It was the first attacker, the one he’d tripped. For a moment, they struggled against one another. Then the attacker got the advantage over him and, straddling Stiger’s midsection, gripped both meaty hands around Stiger’s throat. Like a vice, his opponent began to squeeze the life out of him while doing his best to repeatedly bang Stiger’s head into the floor.

“Die, die, die,” the man screamed at him.

Stiger flailed at the heavier man with his fists, striking at his face. He kicked and thrashed. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever. He was becoming dazed again from the repeated blows to his head, but now Stiger found himself struggling to breathe, to suck in a precious breath. Desperate, he switched from pummeling the man’s face to trying to pry at the hands. Nothing worked. The man was monstrously strong.

“Die, die, die,” the man continued to scream. “Fucking die!”

Stiger’s vision was beginning to gray. He could feel himself slipping, losing consciousness. Then, as if from nowhere, a blade appeared, as did an arm, which wrapped itself firmly around the man’s forehead. The blade efficiently sawed across his opponent’s throat.

The man gave a violent jerk as blood erupted in a shocking spray and then a gush of hot wetness splashed down onto Stiger’s face, into his open mouth and eyes, blinding him.

The hands almost immediately released their grip on his throat as the man was shoved off him. Gagging and struggling to breathe, Stiger rolled onto his side and coughed. His throat ached painfully, burned even, and he tried to blink the blood out of his eyes as he wiped furiously at them. A heartbeat later, he sensed a body as it hit the floor near him. Then Stiger could not only see but once more breathe. Coughing, he sucked in a huge gasping breath, and it was a sweet relief.

His wife stood just before him. Wielding a dagger and facing the outer door, she looked as dangerous as ever, and for a protracted moment he felt terrible pride. Then another enemy came through the door and advanced to attack. He was easily twice her size and as muscular as the man who had tried to strangle Stiger. For a heartbeat, his heart froze in his chest as she faced this killer boldly.

Taha’Leeth feinted to the left with her blade. Her opponent made to block. As he did, she shifted her angle of attack and moved so fast, he thought her a blur of motion. Her blade stabbed out in a flash, and before he could blink, the man crashed to the floor at her feet, twitching his last and spilling a shocking amount of blood upon the marble tiles of the sitting room. Then she stepped back to him. She put a protective arm on his shoulder as he sat up, steadying him as he swayed slightly.

Stiger looked and beyond her in the corridor there was a general melee. It was clear Ruga’s men had emerged from their quarters nearby and joined the fight. From what he could see, they fought in their tunics with short swords, battling against the assassins, for that was what they clearly were. They had come here to kill him. One legionary was stark naked. It did not seem to slow him down in the slightest as he traded blows with an enemy.

Apparently satisfied that the immediate threat to their persons was over, Taha’Leeth held out a hand to him. Stiger gripped it and she hauled him to his feet.

Her sharp-eyed gaze flicked rapidly over him, looking for serious injury, then returned to the door. It was time to arm himself, and not with just a dagger either, though several now lay within reach. Stiger moved for his sword. He turned and ran back into the bedroom and threw himself across the bed, sliding over it to the other side, where Rarokan lay propped up against the wall in the corner.

When he landed, he knocked over the table. The jug of wine and mugs crashed to the floor, where they shattered. His hand closed upon the grip and Stiger felt the power flare as he unlocked Rarokan’s prison, fully accepting the sword’s power and welcoming all that came with it.

The room seemed far brighter than it had been moments before as he ripped the sword clean from the scabbard. Time slowed. The power surged into him. The fog lifted as Stiger’s mind cleared, and with it, his anger grew to a mighty, murderous rage.

Kill them all, Rarokan hissed in his mind. Feed me their souls.

The rage increased to the point where it was staggering, overwhelming, and an unstoppable force. It demanded a reckoning, death for all involved.

“How dare they.”

Kill them all.

“I am death,” Stiger growled and took a staggering step forward, toward the fight raging out in the corridor. He seemed suddenly sluggish. It was as if he were wading through waist-high water. And yet, something was wrong, very wrong. His vision had started to tunnel, the field of view narrowing.

It took him a moment to understand what was happening. He had opened himself up to Rarokan as he had in the past, expecting additional power and assistance with the fight, only this was different, very different. In the excitement, he had dropped his guard, become less watchful, mindful. The wizard was once again trying to gain control of him. He could sense that now, the malevolent intent, the desire to possess, to once more gain a mortal body, to live again.

With effort, he forced himself to calm down, to focus on regaining control before it was too late. He pushed back at the wizard. Rarokan fought him and fed him more hate and rage. The flood of it all was making it difficult for him to think, to reason, to act. Stiger pushed back even harder, struggling to force the wizard into his prison. He threw all his effort behind it.

Rarokan was strong, stronger than he should have been. It did not make sense. Before, he’d only had to exert some effort to force the mad wizard back into his prison, especially after Menos’s training.

How did he get so strong?

Rarokan laughed at him.

Fool. You are a gullible fool!

With shocking clarity, Stiger suddenly understood. In the past, the wizard had only allowed him to believe he had been overpowered. He’d been conserving his power, his energy, his strength, waiting for such a moment, an unguarded one.

Gritting his teeth, Stiger shoved back. Only, Rarokan was not going into his prison. Stiger realized he needed help. Reaching out, he tried to touch his power with the High Father, to access it, and found that blocked as well. He was cut off from his god. It was like there was some invisible barrier holding him back.

With all the fiber of his being, he knew he was in serious trouble. Groaning, Stiger battered at the wizard, fighting against the immense will of Rarokan.

The wizard’s laughter intensified, mocking him.

Fool, you thought you could outwit me! For your arrogance you will learn true suffering. You will take my place and give me life once more.

That only served to make Stiger angrier. A heartbeat later, Rarokan began shoving the door to his prison open wider, allowing more of his essence and soul to emerge. Stiger felt himself losing the fight, being beaten back. His own essence and soul were in turn being shoved into the wizard’s prison. Rarokan was steadily taking possession of his body and there seemed no stopping him.

No! Stiger thought. No. Please no.

With the power I have amassed, I will be able to finally challenge the gods themselves.

Frozen to near immobility, Stiger’s eyes went to his wife. As if time had slowed, which he supposed it had, she was turning ever so slowly to face him. The anger at what was happening only increased, incensing him beyond belief. Rarokan’s hold over him was growing, thoroughly locking him into place. He was losing his own personal battle with the wizard.

Eyeing his wife, Stiger thought of all he’d gained and now stood to lose. It broke his heart, shredding it to pieces. He had a flash of the future, what he imagined it could be, with Taha’Leeth, their child, exploring the forest, his wife teaching their daughter to shoot a bow and hunt. Rarokan’s maniacal laughter increased. A sense of sadness overcame Stiger, for he knew there was only one outcome here, Rarokan’s complete domination of him.

He stared at his wife, feeling horror mixing with the rage. By the gods, he loved her and felt a warming of his heart. Rarokan’s hold slipped and the door to the prison swung slightly the other way.

Stiger blinked.

What had just happened?

Like a light at the end of a long tunnel, he suddenly recalled why Thoggle had placed him with Sarai. It had been to balance him, to counter Rarokan’s growing influence, to ground him. Thoggle and Menos had wanted him to fall for her, to love Sarai, someone who, like him, had been broken and hurt terribly.

Stiger suddenly understood with absolute clarity their intention. It came down to love. That was the true weapon in this fight. He had something that Rarokan never could, someone he could love and who loved him in kind.

The wizard only loved power.

He had repeatedly fed Stiger hate and rage. That was Rarokan’s hold over him. At least he hoped that was it. Stiger let go, fully releasing his anger, his rage at the world, the hate that was roiling within, and embraced his love for Taha’Leeth. He felt a warming within his soul, and a slackening of Rarokan’s hold upon him. It was ever so slight, so small.

Was it an opening in the wizard’s armor?

Stiger closed his eyes and thought on the High Father and thanked his god for his many blessings. He tried to remember, to recall the feel of the High Father’s love as he had gazed upon the great god’s statue in the temple, the calming nature to his spirit …

What are you doing? Stop.

Stiger could sense the alarm as the love of his god seemed to settle over his soul. As it did, the wizard’s ironclad hold over him, like lake ice during the thaw, began to crack and splinter. Stiger could once more sense the ball of light within, his connection with the High Father.

He reached out and touched it. The feeling grew and the power within surged mightily as the High Father’s will, like a warm blanket on a cold night, fully embraced him. Rarokan pushed back, shoving for all he was worth, but it was too late. The power within Stiger, his will, grew and smashed like a tidal wave over a storm break. Rarokan’s hold over him lessened.

No! Rarokan was panicked now. Stiger could feel that.

Do I have to put you back in your box for good? Stiger mentally sent that at the wizard.

There was no response.

Should I nail the door to your cell permanently closed? With the High Father’s help, I can now do that. I feel that capability within me.

Again, there was no response. The wizard battered back at him.

You’ve taught me something about myself today. For that, you have my thanks.

Rarokan said nothing, only continued to struggle against him, which was now a thoroughly lost cause.

I might take you back to that lake in the Vrell Valley. Do you remember the one where I went fishing? It was remote, high up in the mountains. No one ever goes there. I will swim out to the center of the lake and drop you in.

Stiger suddenly smiled.

Better yet, I know of an active volcano and we’re heading there soon. The molten rock might not destroy you … but no one’s getting you out … that will be certain.

Stiger sensed Rarokan’s naked fear at such a prospect. There was a momentary hesitation, then the hold upon him released entirely and Stiger was free. The wizard returned to his prison. Time snapped back and he sucked in a deep gasping breath. He could move again.

“What was that?” Taha’Leeth asked, stepping toward him, clearly alarmed. “I felt the power. It was … I’ve never sensed anything like that … it was titanic.”

At first, Stiger did not reply. Ruga stood in the doorway. The centurion wore only his tunic and wielded a short sword. His head was bloody from a cut on his forehead and his sword dripped blood onto the polished marble floor. More of Ruga’s men stood out in the hallway, blocking the entrance. Just beyond them, one held a sword to a young woman, who had a bloodied temple and was curled up into a ball on the floor.

Shouts of alarm were being raised throughout the palace. Stiger could hear feet pounding out in the corridor, along with the clash of steel farther off.

Sword drawn, a legionary, an optio, in full armor appeared at the door. He gazed into the room, his eyes searching, then moved beyond it and out of view, heading down the corridor. Another legionary came into view. Stiger could hear someone shouting orders. It sounded like Spatz.

“Are you all right, sir?” Ruga called, looking back. The centurion was winded.

“Go find and secure my father,” Stiger ordered. “They might have gone after him as well.”

“I’m here.” Marcus appeared before the door. He was armed with a bloodied sword and was wearing a simple tunic. He, like Stiger, was barefoot. “And they did come for me too. They didn’t catch the guard posted to my door napping though.”

Stiger felt relieved at that. Marcus pushed past Ruga and entered the room. He surveyed the carnage in the foyer, then glanced over at his son. Stiger looked down on his weapon and with disgust tossed the sword onto the bed. Moving around the bed, he took a step nearer to his wife.

“I love you.” Stiger embraced her tightly, like a drowning man might clutch a log.

“Easy, I’m still healing,” Taha’Leeth said. “And I love you too, husband.”

He eased his hold, then kissed her fiercely. He’d almost lost her. She kissed him back. After a moment, they broke apart. She eyed the sword warily, then turned her gaze back to him and switched to Elven.

“You will tell me what happened? And by that, I mean with the sword.”

“I will.” Stiger glanced around meaningfully at those nearest. “Later.”

She gave a curt nod of understanding.

“Who is Senator Lesto?” Stiger asked, turning to his father. “I do not know the family.”

“Lesto?” Marcus asked. “Why?”

“One of those bastards offered me his regards as he was about to knife me.” Stiger gestured at the bodies lying in the sitting room.

“That’s not good,” Marcus said. “Lesto’s family joined the senatorial class a couple of years back. He was an ardent Lears supporter but not an outright enemy to our house. I guess we have to consider that the two now go hand in hand, especially after what you did to Lears.”

Stiger gave a nod and wondered for a moment how Lesto had gotten the money to buy admission to the senatorial class. Had the Cyphan had a hand in it? Had their agent Handi helped him? Were there more agents of the enemy out there like the late tribune?

“I want Lesto’s house searched,” Stiger said. “See what you can learn.”

“While we are at it,” Marcus said, “since he’s now a traitor, we can seize his holdings.”

“Sir,” Ruga called from the corridor. “We have a live one out here. What do you want to do with her?”

Stiger moved past his father and the bodies in the room. He stepped out into the corridor to find it crowded with men, near jam-packed, all legionaries too. Three of Ruga’s boys were down and finished. Both men who had guarded his door were also dead. The sight of them caused Stiger to grimace, almost in pain. Another was injured, having taken a bad cut to the leg. He was being tended to by two men, who were tying a tourniquet to the leg.

“Someone send for a surgeon,” one of the men called.

“Lascus,” Ruga snapped, pointing his sword at a man who wore only a blood-stained tunic. “See to it, man.”

“Aye, sir,” Lascus said, then started pushing his way down the corridor.

Captain Spatz was coming down the corridor with a thunderous expression. He moved toward Stiger. “Bloody gods. We were changing the guard when this mess happened, which was lucky. They tried to block the corridor and keep us from coming to your aid. I had more men on hand.” He paused and eyed Stiger with concern. “Are you all right, Ben? You’re covered in blood.”

Stiger looked down at himself. He felt battered and bruised but not seriously injured. And he was fairly doused in sticky blood, much of which was still wet but beginning to dry. He could feel it in his hair too and taste the coppery tang of it in his mouth.

“I’m fine.” He looked over at the prisoner and saw the girl, the servant he had passed earlier in the corridor. She was the one with the tight dress who had boldly met his gaze. She had also been the one who had plunged her dagger into one of Ruga’s men, who was now dead.

She had been hauled to her feet and was being held by two legionaries. Each had her by an arm. She struggled against her captors as he approached.

Stiger’s enemies had struck at him using the servants as cover for their assassins. Next time, and there would be a next time, he would have to be more careful. Flicking his gaze to the dead, Stiger understood he should have thought of something like this happening.

“Why?” Stiger asked. She had her whole life ahead of her. “Why do this? What have I ever done to you?”

She spat in his face.

Stiger reached up and wiped it away and off his right cheek. He was about to ask again, when he noticed a slight bulge of something under the collar of her dress. Reaching forward, with a jerk, he ripped the dress open around her neck to reveal what was hidden there.

It was a slim collar, bronze in color. The dress had clearly been meant to conceal it. Understanding dawned. He looked up at her and met her gaze. He felt nothing but pity and sadness, for the girl followed a dark and vile god.

“She’s bloody Cyphan,” Ruga cursed from behind Stiger.

“Aye,” Stiger said heavily, “she is a slave of the confederacy, no different than their soldiers. Only, this bitch is an assassin.” Stiger glanced around at the dead servants, her comrades in this fight. They had almost succeeded in their mission. Yet again, Stiger had beaten the odds but at the cost of more of his men.

“The confederacy will crush you,” she said calmly and gave up her struggle. She ran her gaze from Spatz to Ruga and then back to Stiger. “We will crush you all. Do you hear me? The empire will fall before the confederacy’s might. I promise—”

Ruga nodded and one of the men holding her punched a fist into her stomach, driving the wind from her.

Stiger finally recognized her accent. He’d heard it before, from General Kryven on the road from Vrell. Braddock had killed the man. Veers spoke the same way.

“Maybe the confederacy will win,” Stiger said as the two soldiers held her while she gasped for breath. “But I don’t think so, because I am going to ensure they don’t.”

Still gasping, she shot a hateful look at him. Stiger gave a shrug of his shoulders and stepped back and away from her. He looked over at Ruga, who still had his bloodied sword out.

“Sir, do you want her interrogated?”

“No,” Stiger said. “Execute her, Centurion.”

“Now, sir?” Ruga asked, surprised by the command.

“If you wouldn’t mind. I think she’s earned her fate. I saw her personally plunge a dagger into one of your men.”

“Aye, sir.” Ruga stepped forward, and still struggling for breath, the girl watched him with sullen eyes.

Without any hesitation, the centurion drove his sword deep into her stomach. She gasped from the pain and spat up blood in a spray onto the centurion’s face. Ruga gave the sword a vicious twist, and with that, she slumped over in her captors’ arms.

“Release her,” Ruga ordered curtly to his men.

They let go. The girl dropped to the floor and doubled up in agony. Blood poured from the terrible wound Ruga had inflicted upon her. After a moment, she looked up at the centurion and Stiger with clear hate in her gaze mixed with terrible agony. She bared her bloodied teeth at her executioner.

“When you see him, tell your master,” Ruga said, “this is what happens to our enemies.”

Ruga jabbed down with his sword. The blade scraped against the bronze collar, then neatly opened her throat to the spine, which ushered forth a torrent of blood. She spasmed, then began to choke as her eyes bulged. A dozen heartbeats later she fell forward onto the floor and lay there, her legs twitching as her blood continued to pour out onto the marble tile she had been scrubbing a short time before.

Silence reigned in the corridor as all eyes were on what had just been done. Stiger regarded the girl for a moment more, then turned to Spatz.

“Lock down the palace,” Stiger ordered and pointed down at the girl. “Secure the servants. Search them for collars like that one. Any you find are the enemy. They are to be executed on the spot. The collar is a sign of not only their class status, but their religion, their devotion to their god. Take no chances, for they do not fear death. Kill any you find. No prisoners, Spatz. Got me?”

“I understand, Imperator,” Spatz said. “As you command, it will be done.”

“And what of those who are not worshippers of Valoor?” Stiger’s father asked, pointing down at a dead servant, one of the attackers. The man’s tunic had been fairly ripped off in the fight. There was no collar in evidence.

“From this point onward,” Stiger said, “we only use trusted people. If that means the palace must operate on a skeleton staff, then so be it. All servants, all people coming onto palace grounds, are to be searched thoroughly for weapons. Anyone we don’t know, who isn’t a legionary or a direct client of our family or an ally, we do not trust.” Stiger looked from Spatz to Ruga. “Especially the ones that are good to look at.”

“Aye, sir,” Ruga said.

“While I’m gone, I want the guard doubled on my wife.”

“You’re still going, sir?” Ruga asked, surprised. “After this?”

“Yes,” Stiger said. “It’s more important than ever that I go now. Mechlehnus must bend the knee and be brought to heel. The senate too, and the sooner the better. I expect I will find a good number of senators with him. At least, I hope so.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruga said.

“Remove the bodies and call for my manservant,” Stiger said to Ruga, then spotted Venthus behind Spatz. The old man looked to have run and was badly winded. With him were Therik and Eli, who eyed Stiger warily. “Venthus, I need a bath and a clean tunic before I depart.”

“Yes, master,” Venthus wheezed.

Eli’s fingers danced down at his side. Stiger recognized the finger speak. He replied with a simple motion to wait. He would explain soon enough. Therik made to move forward, and as he did, Eli placed a restraining hand on the orc’s arm and shook his head.

“Venthus, you are with me.” Stiger led the slave into his private residence, where Taha’Leeth waited. She eyed the man a moment but said nothing.

Venthus looked over the bodies, then turned to Stiger. “You have a task for me?”

“Yes,” Stiger said as Dog padded into the room. The animal’s fur was matted with blood, especially around the muzzle and head. Tongue hanging out of the right side of his mouth and looking quite pleased with himself, he came up to Stiger and rubbed against him with his head. Stiger patted the top of the Dog’s head fondly. “Good boy,” Stiger said to the animal. “You are a good boy.”

Dog’s tail began to wag vigorously, shaking the entire animal.

“What do you wish of me?” Venthus asked with meaning, drawing Stiger’s attention again. “Command me, Champion of the High Father. As you know, I am here to serve.”

Stiger’s father joined them. He was looking at the slave curiously and with open question.

“Senator Lesto is working with the enemy,” Stiger said. “I am sure of it. I don’t know where he is, but I want him found and killed. Can you take care of him for me?”

Marcus looked from Venthus to Stiger and then back again. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as they came to rest upon Stiger’s manservant.

“What about the rest of his family?” Venthus asked, ignoring Stiger’s father. There was no emotion on the man’s face or in his tone. He was simply dispassionate. “They cannot be trusted. By putting my pets to work on them, you will be setting an example that will not be mistaken.”

Stiger gave it a moment’s thought, then offered Venthus a firm nod. “Do it. The entire family, especially if any reside here within the city.”

“How extravagant do you want the example to be?” Venthus asked.

“Make it memorable,” Stiger growled and waved at the nearest bodies. “I want to discourage madness like this from happening again. Those who would willingly stand in my way should know what will happen to them if they try to cross me.”

“Very well. It will be done.” Venthus gave a nod of his own. “Do you still have that vial I gave you?”

“Yes.” Stiger resisted the urge to look toward his pack, where it was stored away. “What of it?”

“I will be gone for some days, weeks even, while I attend to this task you have set for me,” Venthus said. “Before I return, there may be another attempt or attempts upon your life. Keep the vial with you at all times and, if need be, use it. Do you remember my instructions on its use?”

“I will,” Stiger assured the man. “And I do.”

“Good. I will see that a bath is drawn for you, master.” Venthus slipped back into the role of the slave and clasped his hands before him. He had raised his voice slightly so those out in the corridor could hear. “There are guest quarters not far off. More importantly, one has a bathtub. If you will give me permission to withdraw, I will send word when the bath is ready. I will also see that a fresh tunic is laid out for you.”

With that, the slave turned and began to move off, stepping around and over the bodies in the sitting room.

“And, Venthus,” Stiger said.

Venthus paused and looked back in question.

“Be thorough and do the job right, no matter how long it takes.”

Venthus gave a thin-lipped smile devoid of warmth. He gaze suddenly seemed filled with a terrible hunger. “It pleases me greatly to hear you say that, master. It has been some time since I put my skills fully to work for you. Thank you for yet another opportunity to prove my bond. I shall not forget it, nor will my god.”

“I won’t forget it either,” Stiger said.

With that, Venthus turned away and stepped through the door, leaving them.

“I thought he was just a slave,” Marcus said in a near whisper, “nothing more than a servant. By the Seven Levels, what is he?”

“A dark paladin,” Taha’Leeth said quietly.

“What?” Marcus asked, looking sharply at Stiger. “Does Restus know that?”

“He does,” Stiger said. He does

“And he’s okay with it?” There was plain skepticism in his father’s expression and tone.

“I don’t know about okay,” Stiger said. “But for the moment we are allies against a common enemy, and that is all that matters.”

“And what god does he worship?” Marcus asked, turning to look at the doorway Venthus had just gone through.

Stiger considered what he had just unleashed. Some of those who would die, but for their family name, were innocent. He felt sick at the thought of the manner of death he had condemned them to, for he had seen Venthus’s work before. He turned to his father.

“Venthus is a paladin of Lutha Nyx, the goddess of shadows, darkness, and worse, the twisted.”

Chapter Six

Gripping her scales, Stiger climbed down off Currose’s back. From where he had been mounted, it was at least fifty feet down. He jumped the last couple feet to the snow-covered ground. The snow crunched under his boots as they sank down a few inches.

Tail wagging, Dog was waiting for him at the bottom. How the animal had gotten down on his own was beyond Stiger. There were just some things about him that defied explanation. Stiger accepted that, when it came to Dog, the improbable—even the impossible—was possible. Dog was sitting there on his haunches, staring at him with deep, brown, watery eyes. His rapidly wagging tail had swished aside the snow.

“Good boy,” Stiger said, feeling a deep fondness for the animal. They had been through a lot together. He patted the dog’s head and got a lick on his wrist in return. “You’re a good boy, a real good boy.”

Dog’s tail wagged even more vigorously.

With a deep crunch, Eli dropped down next. Around them, Stiger’s escort, under the direction of Optio Crespo, had already dismounted and spread out in a protective cordon, not that there was anyone near or foolish enough to become a threat, especially with the menacing presence of the dragon.

The sun had just come up a half hour before and was peeking over the horizon to the right, where a series of low, rolling ridges lay, the tops of which were forested. The tree trunks atop the hill were silhouetted against the fiery luminescence of the sun. It was an incredible sight, one Stiger, for a moment, found himself thoroughly enjoying.

Though the sun had brightened the day and colored the sky a brilliant pink, it was still bitterly cold. Covered over in a blanket of white, the land was also heavily shadowed. That wouldn’t last long, for the sun would quickly climb into the sky, and as it did, the temperature would rise. At least Stiger hoped it would.

“Have I mentioned I don’t like flying?” Therik called down from above as he worked his way carefully down the side of the dragon. He stepped down and released his hold upon her rock-like scales. “It feels good to have my feet upon solid ground.”

“You can kiss the ground if it makes you feel better,” Eli said. “I do not mind in the least. I will even avert my gaze if you wish.”

“You are too funny, elf.” Therik wagged a finger at Eli. “One day that mouth may get you into trouble.”

“I am counting on it.” Eli grinned. “I am really counting on it.”

“I also do not like heights,” Therik said, turning his attention back to Stiger. “If orcs were meant to fly, they would have been given wings by the gods.”

“I know. I know.” Stiger had heard it all before. He was tired, cold, and did not feel like playing games. He ran his gaze over the fortified encampment four hundred yards to their front. Armed men, legionaries all, manned the walls. Hundreds of soldiers were gazing out at them, likely in a mixture of horror, fascination, and excitement. A horn blared on the air from within, calling the camp to arms.

This was one of seven large camps they had seen from the air, all positioned within ten miles from each other and straddling the road east. There were likely more, for Stiger had learned Mechlehnus’s army numbered somewhere around one hundred fifty thousand, and not counting Stiger’s army coming up from the south, it represented what remained of much of the military might of the empire.

Stiger figured this encampment, based upon its size, contained at least two legions and several auxiliary cohorts. More importantly, it held the general’s headquarters. He had not only seen the man’s standard from the air as they had flown over the camp, but the intelligence he had received told him Mechlehnus was here.

Restus clambered down, his boots sinking into the snow. The paladin was wearing silver plate armor, complete with a white cloak. It was new, and under the morning sunlight, it gleamed like it was on fire. The High Father’s lightning bolt was emblazoned broadly on his chest plate. The armor was an incredible piece of work and looked more ceremonial than functional. Stiger understood that was not likely the case.

“I don’t think I will ever tire of that,” the paladin said and patted the side of the dragon. “Thank you, Currose. Flying with you is truly a gift from the gods.”

You are welcome, human, Currose said in their minds. I am pleased at least one of you enjoyed the experience.

Stiger glanced around. The dragon had landed them alongside an imperial highway, one of the main arteries of the empire, the Perminuam Way. It led from the capital in a near straight line to the coast. Many thought the empire built roads to support trade, but economic benefit was a secondary concern. The roads were meant for the rapid deployment of legions.

On either side of the road, farms and pastureland stretched out over a rolling, open, and seemingly unending land. With Mechlehnus’s legions present, Stiger was certain the locals had fled. When armies marched, even friendly ones, the locals, at least the smart ones, typically made themselves scarce until the soldiers passed by. It tended to be healthier that way.

A cold wind gusted and, reflexively, Stiger pulled his bearskin cloak tighter about his person. The flight out had been a cold one and he found himself chilled. Wishing for a fire, he rubbed his hands together to generate some warmth and moved over to a tomb that had been built along the roadside. There were several others like it in view. Most were smaller and snow-covered.

This one was unusually large, fifteen feet high and more around. It had been made to look like a small house. The door, a stone slab, was sealed and had not been broken into. The size of the tomb either meant the person interred had been important or they had been wealthy and in death had wanted to display their riches, though none would be held within. Grave robbers would only find human remains and offerings to the gods, usually fruit or an animal sacrifice.

The snow had begun to melt off the side that faced the rising sun. The tomb, made of granite, was heavily weathered and covered over in lichen, giving it an ancient, time-worn look. Stiger brushed off more of the snow.

“Febelius Atuvea Cristius,” Stiger read the name, which under the ravages of time and weather was steadily beginning to fade. “Centurion of Second Legion, Third Cohort, father and husband, landowner, farmer. Service performed through honor and faith.”

Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Therik trudged through the snow over to him. “Is this a shrine of some kind? I recognize the High Father’s lightning bolt.”

“It’s a tomb,” Stiger said, eyeing the High Father’s symbol for a moment before looking over at Therik. “He was a follower.”

“I see an etching of a short sword above the writing there.” Therik pointed. “A soldier too?”

“Yes, he was.” Stiger’s eyes found the sword. It was badly faded, and half covered over in white lichen. He’d not noticed it at first. Under it was a date. “He passed on well over a hundred years ago.”

“Did he die a good death?” Therik asked, eyeing the tomb. “Warriors should die well. Something this large, it would seem to indicate he did, no? Does it say so?”

Stiger glanced over at the marble plaque that held the writing. “He served his time with the legions honorably and then clearly retired. It says he was also a landowner and farmer. His plot of land must have been nearby, or I suppose his family had his body transported and placed here according to his wishes.”

“Why here?” Therik asked.

“The land along both sides of the road belongs to the state. If the proper fee, really a tax, is paid, loved ones can be buried here, or their ashes interred in a tomb like this one. It has become something of a tradition, especially for those veterans who served with honor. They want to leave something tangible behind, a sign of not only their sacrifice, but also service to the empire they served. Think of it as bearing witness to their life’s achievements.”

His eyes roving over the tomb, Therik gave an understanding nod.

“The legions change and shape everyone who serves,” Stiger continued, then gave a chuckle. “Heck, I’m not the same spoiled teenager who marched off to war with a lieutenant’s commission in hand. I thought I knew everything. How wrong I was.” Stiger glanced at the writing that had been carved into the tomb. “For most veterans, service to the legion is the defining time of their lives. They get to see, do, and achieve things they never imagined possible. It leaves one marked for life. There’s an old saying: Once a legionary, always a legionary.”

“He was a killer then.”

“To make it to the rank of centurion,” Stiger said, “Cristius would have been very good at killing, so yes.”

“A killer who then became a farmer in his old age,” Therik mused as he ran a finger down one of his sharpened tusks. He shook his head slightly, then turned his gaze to Stiger. “Do not get me wrong. I respect a warrior who serves his people, but I don’t ever believe I could become one who grows food from the ground. It is not in my nature. I do not find the thought of doing so very appealing.”

“I never thought I could either,” Stiger said, thinking back to Sarai and the farm. “And yet, for a short time, as a farmer, I was at peace, happy and content with what I had, with my life, for probably the first time in my memory. It was something I had not expected to find.” Stiger’s thoughts went back to Taha’Leeth for a moment. At some point in the future, could he find such with her? By the gods, he hoped so.

Crunching the snow underfoot, Therik shifted his stance, glancing from the tomb back over to Stiger again. The orc well knew what had happened to Sarai. He was aware of the pain Stiger carried, and though his people had been the cause of her death, Stiger bore the former king no ill will. Therik understood that too.

“Such a life is still not for me,” Therik said after a long pause. “And I doubt you are destined to return to farming. The High Father has plans for us both. That much has been made plain.”

“You are right about that, my friend.” Stiger shifted his gaze back to the encampment as another horn call sounded. Over the gatehouse, what looked like several officers had appeared. Stiger could tell them apart by their distinctive armor and plumed helmets. From the manner in which their plumes were moving about, they were talking amongst themselves in an animated way.

“It seems we have been noticed,” Eli said as he sauntered over. The elf had his bow slung over his back. He was carrying a leather-wrapped bundle of arrows lightly in one hand. “Once again, we make a grand entrance. I am starting to like it.”

“You tend to point out the obvious, elf,” Therik said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Now that you mention it, Therik, not that I can ever recall.” Eli said this with a straight face as he cocked his head to the side slightly and shot a wink at Stiger. “Or at least that I will own up to. Besides, someone must state the obvious. So, why should it not be me?” Eli made a show of looking at the encampment. He held both hands wide. “Yet another gate closed to us, Ben.”

“Sadly, it is becoming a pattern,” Stiger said. “Just one more obstacle to overcome.”

“I guess you could apply that statement quite literally to our current situation,” Eli said. “That is, if they do not open the gate.”

“I kind of walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Eli said.

Therik turned to Stiger. “So, since the elf pointed it out, how do you plan on getting them to open that gate?”

“I thought I’d just wait for them to open it and come out.”

“You don’t have a better plan?” Therik was clearly aghast. “You said this would be a short trip. If I had known you intended to wait them out, I would have packed more food.”

“Always thinking with your belly.” Stiger gave an amused grunt, then looked back at the tomb. It was time to say goodbye. He placed a hand on the lichen-covered stone. It was ice-cold from the night’s chill. “Rest easy, brother,” Stiger said, and with that, he stepped away, moving through the snow back toward Currose.

From head to tail, the noctalum was huge, almost impossibly so. Stiger had seen three-story buildings that looked small by comparison.

“How are you?” Stiger asked the noctalum as she turned her fearsome gaze to focus on him. “I hope the flight wasn’t too taxing in your current condition.”

Fine, Currose said curtly. Stiger could tell she was just speaking to him. She made that plain through the mental connection. No one else could hear. Her tail, which was stretched out behind her, gave an unhappy twitch and smacked the ground. Stiger could feel the impact through his boots. Her claws had dug into the snow-covered land, with one having partially torn up several feet of the road. It is cold but I am fine.

“Yes, it is,” Stiger agreed. He wasn’t so sure she was fine. He’d known her for a long time. She looked tired and worn to his eyes, and the black and gray of her coloring seemed somewhat faded, paler.

There was a wyrm off to the east as we landed.

Stiger turned his gaze eastward. “That’s not good news.”

Likely an enemy scout. It spotted me and flew off at speed. The creature had a rider. A sense of regret crept into her tone. If I was healthy, I would have pursued it and hunted the beast down with relish.

Stiger hoped she was correct and the enemy did not intend to raid the army. If an attack was planned, the fact that they had spotted the noctalum would give the enemy second thoughts, for wyrms were much smaller and weaker creatures.

Get this over with so we can return to the capital, Currose said, and I can rest. I will need to recover some strength after this journey before we can go for my mate and that fool dwarf wizard. It will be a much farther flight, with trouble waiting at the end.

“I will do what I can.” Noctalum entered a deep sleep when they needed healing. He had seen it once before with Sian Tane, otherwise known as Menos. “My goal is for us to be on our way before nightfall.”

Let us hope that is so.

Stiger turned and walked toward the gate. He was in bolt thrower range and could see two machines that had been mounted up on the wall to either side of the gate. Both were manned and aimed at the dragon. Though they were at extreme range, Stiger knew those short-length bolts, which were highly accurate, would only serve to piss Currose off if they shot at her. He, on the other hand, was vulnerable. Still, at their current range, it would be a difficult shot. That did not make him feel any better. Stiger had never much enjoyed being under fire.

“Crespo,” Stiger called to the optio. “Form a line to my front.”

Restus fell in at his side and, a moment later, so too did Eli and Therik.

“Form a line before the emperor, boys,” Optio Crespo ordered his men.

Stiger eyed the man. He was newly promoted. Ruga’s last surviving optio had been killed in the assassination attempt the previous evening. Stiger was still irritated about that, for the enemy had almost succeeded.

Over the years, there had been numerous attempts on his life, with a few having come very close to the mark and ending not only his journey, but also his story. There was nothing more personal than that.

Jogging forward and carrying their shields, Crespo’s men fell into a line before him. Stiger stopped and waited for them to finish as they dressed themselves neatly. Ruga’s men were well-trained, and all had been through the meat grinder more than once. They were hard-charging veterans, men he could, without question, count on. And right now, his small escort was showing the men in the encampment who exactly had come to see them.

Stiger turned his gaze back to the gate and the officers who stood over it on the defensive platform. There were several more now. Stiger supposed one was Mechlehnus. Despite the fact the general had not responded to any of his messages, as imperator, Stiger was showing him a great honor by coming personally.

Whether the general recognized that or not was another matter. And if the man could not see what was before his nose, Stiger wanted Mechlehnus to see not only him, but also the dragon. It was a blatant show of force and unquestionable power, one that Mechlehnus could not match. More importantly, the men of the legions would see it.

He looked back at Currose.

“If you wouldn’t mind announcing us?” Stiger called to the dragon. “Now would be a good time.”

Currose raised her head up high into the air and extended her wings as the call to arms horn once more blared loudly in the camp. Stiger could imagine the chaos as the men armed themselves and rushed to their positions along the wall or in reserve.

The dragon let loose a stream of fire, which shot out fifty feet ahead of her and into the air overhead. Stiger could feel the blistering heat. He resisted the temptation to duck, for he knew Currose would not put him at risk.

Several of Ruga’s men did not have the same strength of will and crouched down. After several long moments, the blast of flame ceased and the bitter cold almost immediately returned in a cooling rush. Then Currose let loose a mighty roar, thoroughly drowning out the horn. The roar was savage and intimidating. It left his ears ringing painfully.

Humans, Currose said mentally. It came in a mind-numbing blast and was directed toward the encampment. I bring you your emperor, the Champion of the High Father. Turn your back not, for without him, you will all be lost. In this late hour, he is your light in the darkness, your savior, and he has come to lead you to victory.

Scowling slightly, Stiger glanced back at the dragon. “That was a little much, don’t you think?”

Currose turned her attention to him and gave a sort of shrug with her wings as she folded them back into place and lay down with a heavy thud.

You said announce your coming and I did.

Stiger turned back front and pushed his way through the line. Dog trailed behind him. He stopped a few paces before the small line and placed his hands upon his hips so the camp could get a good look at him. Dog sat down at his side. They were just under four hundred yards from the gate. Therik, Restus, and Eli joined him.

“Optio Crespo, keep the men in line and in position. I will not be going any farther.”

“Aye, sir,” Crespo said. “Stand easy, boys.”

“Now,” Stiger said to himself, “we wait.”

Chapter Seven

The wait turned out to be not that long. Within a quarter of an hour, the main gates swung open and out marched two men, and without an escort too. Both were officers. One was a senior tribune, denoted by the blue ribbon tied around his chest, and the other was clearly General Mechlehnus.

“Huh,” Therik said, looking over at Stiger. “That was easy.”

Gaze on the approaching officers, Stiger did not reply.

Just outside the gate, both men stopped and regarded Stiger and the dragon for a long moment. Something was said between them. Then, they started forward at a steady, almost measured pace. When both were a hundred yards from the gate, Stiger looked over at Restus. “You are with me, Father.” Stiger paused. “Eli, Therik, kindly remain here.”

“Are you certain about that?” Therik asked, eyeing the two approaching officers warily.

“Yes,” Stiger said without hesitation, “I am.”

“Maybe he’s concerned you might scare them with that sunny disposition of yours, Therik,” Eli said. “You tend to scowl too much and brandish those tusks when aroused.”

“He told you to remain behind as well, elf,” Therik said. “Perhaps he is worried you might offend them with that terrible sense of humor you believe so witty.”

“There is a little truth to both statements,” Stiger said to them, then without waiting for a response, and feeling a measure of satisfaction, he started forward, leaving them both behind.

“What?” Eli gasped. “Tell me you are not serious, Ben.”

Therik gave an amused chuckle.

Conscious of the importance of the meeting that lay ahead, Stiger put both the orc and elf from his mind. With Restus at his side, he continued forward. Dog padded along with Stiger.

As they drew near one another, Stiger could better see the general. A blue cloak, along with a red ribbon tied across Mechlehnus’s chest, denoted his general’s status. Mechlehnus was older than Stiger’s father, perhaps even old enough to be his grandfather. Still, despite that, he moved well and looked fit and able. He was a head taller than Stiger, thin, and distinguished-looking, with a gray mustache. His brown eyes were keen, sharp, and as they drew nearer, had fixed firmly upon Stiger. In them Stiger read shrewdness, intelligence.

The general’s armor was of an older style, almost but not quite ornate. It was clearly expensive, well-made, and Stiger had the suspicion it had been in the man’s family for at least a generation. He wore it like a second skin, and it fit him well. Stiger noted Mechlehnus’s sword grip was worn, and the man’s forearms were nicked and scarred. All signs pointed to a man, like himself, of action and war.

Mechlehnus’s companion, the tribune, was also older, around the same age as his general. He was muscular, but of a stocky build. There was an ugly scar across the right side of the man’s neck and another one that ran down the right forearm. The tribune had a hard, unforgiving face, one he had seen in many a hardened veteran. Stiger was reminded of a ranker, a sergeant. There was nothing gentlemanly about the man’s person.

For a moment, he considered that the tribune had swapped armor with someone else and was really a bodyguard. Then, he discarded that idea. The tribune’s armor fit him only too well and the man wore it with an accustomed ease.

They met halfway, and as they neared the last dozen steps between them, Mechlehnus did a rapid double take as his gaze shifted to Restus. Then he returned his attention squarely to Stiger. As if previously agreed upon, both parties stopped around five yards from the other. At first, no one said anything. They just studied one another.

Mechlehnus broke the silence first. “You are Stiger, I presume?”

Stiger noted the lacking honorific. It did not bother him, for there was a game to be played here, one Stiger intended to win.

“And you are Mechlehnus,” Stiger said after a moment’s delay. He intentionally left off the man’s title.

“I am,” Mechlehnus said. “I knew your father. I always thought him a good and honest man.”

“And what do you think of me?” Stiger asked.

“I don’t know you,” Mechlehnus admitted, hesitating for a heartbeat, then added, “not yet.”

Instead of replying, Stiger eyed the general. He read pride in the man’s stance, manner, and bearing. From Restus and his father, Stiger had only heard good things about him. He hoped they were right.

“What did you think of Lears?” Stiger asked.

“I understand you killed him,” Mechlehnus said.

“My dog killed him.”

Mechlehnus’s gaze went to the animal, who, sitting at Stiger’s side, had his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The blood that had matted and colored his fur a few hours before had been washed out. A crazy look to his gaze, the dog was watching the general. He turned his head to the side slightly and an ear flopped over. Stiger read disbelief in Mechlehnus’s manner that such an animal could kill. Outwardly, Dog appeared anything but a killer. Though abnormally large, he looked more like a beggar than anything else.

“Your dog killed Lears?” Mechlehnus asked, as if he’d not quite heard right. He gestured at Dog. “Him? Really?”

“Lears tried to take what was rightfully mine. Worse, he was being actively used by our enemy for their purposes.”

“He was?” Skepticism laced the general’s tone.

“By Tribune Handi. The man was an agent of the confederacy. Did you know him?”

“I did not like Handi.” Mechlehnus’s lip curled with disdain. “He was slimy and without honor.”

“He was a true bastard,” Stiger agreed.

“Still,” Mechlehnus said, “I have only your word that he was an agent of the enemy, nothing more.”

“It makes it no less true.”

“Your word is far from compelling proof. Not only did the senate confirm Lears, but the High Priest anointed him as well.”

Stiger said nothing to that. He just returned Mechlehnus’s gaze with one of his own.

“And how did he die?” Mechlehnus asked. “Handi? Your use of past tense implies he is no longer with the living.”

“I killed him in personal combat,” Stiger said simply, “shortly after Lears died.”

The general arched an eyebrow. But then it was his turn to say nothing. Stiger decided to go on the offensive.

“You did not return my messages.”

“You mean your demands to submit, to bend the knee and bow the head.”

“I am emperor now,” Stiger said. “You answer to me.”

“Tioclesion may have named you his successor, but you have yet to be confirmed by the senate. I understand you are lacking a quorum.”

“That will happen soon enough. It is but a formality. Surely you can see that.”

Mechlehnus shared a look with his tribune, then gave a curt nod.

“We have your men.” The tribune turned his hard gaze back on Stiger. “A Captain Lepidus and Sergeant Tiro. I understand you lately promoted Tiro, making him an officer. Both men are from the Third Legion,” Mechlehnus added. “Imagine our surprise when we discovered they had infiltrated our camps.”

Only with effort did Stiger resist a scowl. That both had been apprehended was not good news, but still, it was not unexpected. Stiger felt a stab of worry strike at his heart for two of his oldest friends. He’d asked them to take a serious risk upon his behalf and they had done so without question or protest.

“Have you harmed them?”

“No,” Mechlehnus said. “You may call them my guests.”

“Are your guests in the stockade?”

“They have both been given a tent and are under guard, of course.”

Stiger felt a wave of relief.

“Did you receive the message they carried?” Stiger asked. “The one I wrote you that Captain Lepidus was carrying?”

“I did,” Mechlehnus said. “I must admit I am rather surprised by it. The fact that you instructed them to answer any and all questions, in short, to be frank, impressed me. They were quite open.”

“And still, you did not reply. I find that vexing.”

“Vexing or not, I have learned a great deal about you from them. It is clear both Lepidus and Tiro hold you in high esteem.”

“They are the best of men,” Stiger said. “From what I understand, you are an honorable man as well. I felt the risk was minimal, especially after they shared their orders with you, the written ones I provided.”

“They were actively spreading discontent within my camp,” Mechlehnus said, a note of irritation creeping into his tone, “telling tales of your so-called accomplishments.”

“No more than the truth as they saw it.”

“Truth or not, their actions were aimed at undermining my authority.” Mechlehnus paused. “I take exception to that.”

“I figured it was worth a try,” Stiger admitted. “A toss of the dice, especially since you were not answering my letters.”

“Your roll of the dice worked.”

Stiger found himself pleased to hear that.

“The rank and file have become, shall we say, excited by the prospect of your coming. The tales about you have grown in the telling too.” Mechlehnus glanced back at Currose. “Arriving on a beast like that will only intensify the stories.” He paused for a long moment as he regarded Stiger. For a heartbeat he looked torn, then gave a shrug. “Is it true you destroyed two enemy armies in the south?”

“It is. My army is marching north. But they are still some weeks away from the capital.”

“And what of this army?” Mechlehnus asked. “What of my army?”

“What of it?”

“I assume you will be taking it from me? Will you give it back to your father?”

Stiger did not immediately answer. He could sense a note of pain in the man’s tone, a longing even. It was immediately clear to Stiger that this man loved the army he commanded.

“So?” Mechlehnus asked. “Will you sideline me because I am an equite or that I served your predecessor, one you killed?”

“Sidelining you is not my intention.”

“And what is?” Mechlehnus asked cautiously.

“I need you in command.”

“But your father,” Mechlehnus said, seemingly surprised, “this army’s officers are loyal to him. They respect me, but their allegiance lies elsewhere. Marcus Stiger built this army, and everyone who serves within it knows that.”

“I need my father back in the capital, to help me fix the damage Lears and Handi did to the empire.”

There was disbelief in the general’s expression as his eyes narrowed, and also a hint of burgeoning hope. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I need you in command of this army,” Stiger repeated plainly. “You’ve already faced the Castol in battle and you are an experienced field commander. The men may not be loyal to you yet, but given time, I expect that to change. You will need to earn it to keep command.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“Your fidelity and service,” Stiger replied. “Loyalty to me, and service to the empire.”

“What of my honor?”

“Your honor is your own. I will not ask you to compromise that. Honor is always personal.”

“It is.” Mechlehnus sucked in a breath and turned his gaze to the paladin as he let it out through his nose. “You’re a paladin. You seem familiar to me and then not. What is your name?”

“We’ve met, General.”

“We have?” Mechlehnus asked. “Kindly refresh my memory.”

“I am Father Restus.”

Mechlehnus’s brows drew together. Anger suddenly clouded his face. “Do you take me for a fool? Restus is an old man.” The general turned a hot gaze upon Stiger. “Are you trying to pull something over on me? You know I am religious, one of the faithful, so you dress someone up as a paladin you believe I might not know? Is this designed to impress me?”

Restus took several steps forward, then stopped before general. He held out his hand, as if to shake. “Take my hand.”

“What?” Mechlehnus asked, looking at the offered hand as if it were a snake.

“If you doubt the truth of my words, then take my hand. The High Father will show you the way, the truth.”

Mechlehnus shared a glance with the tribune.

“If you believe I am an imposter, what harm can there be by simply taking my hand?” Restus asked.

The tribune gave a shrug of his shoulders, then a curt nod to the general, and with that, Mechlehnus stepped forward. He hesitated a moment before reaching out and grasping the paladin’s hand.

Stiger felt a slight surge of power from Restus. It wasn’t much but he sensed it just the same. Mechlehnus’s eyes grew wide, then seemed almost to glaze over. The man visibly paled. The surge lasted but a moment, then the general blinked, as if once more becoming aware of his surroundings. He shook his head ever so slightly as his gaze sharpened and fixed upon the paladin in what could only be described as awe.

“And now,” Restus said softly, “my dear general, you see truth.”

“I—I do.” Clearly shaken, Mechlehnus released the paladin’s hand. His gaze went to Stiger as Restus stepped back. “By the holiest of holies, I was shown a vision. It was of you … I … I … saw … ”

“What did you see, sir?” the tribune asked, an eager note in his tone.

Mechlehnus glanced over at his subordinate before returning his gaze back to Stiger. “I saw you fighting evil, terrible evil. It happened … I … I … you defeated a minion of Castor. You are truly blessed by the High Father.”

The general’s gaze went from Stiger to Restus and back again.

“You saw what you needed to see,” the paladin said simply.

“I never imagined such evil could be out there, could exist.” Mechlehnus had paled even further. He pointed a finger in Stiger’s direction. “It is true what they say. You are the High Father’s Champion. The men you sent did not lie or exaggerate.”

Stiger gave a slow nod of confirmation. “I am the High Father’s Champion, and I have a job to do. We do it right and we will be rewarded with the great promise.”

“Empire without end,” Restus said quietly.

“That’s right,” Stiger said and looked squarely at Mechlehnus, “and I cannot do that without your help, General.”

Mechlehnus fell slowly to a knee.

“Imperator,” the general said and bowed his head. “I present myself, my honor, and that of my house to you. I swear loyalty to you on behalf of my family and would enter into your service—that is, if you would have me.”

A heartbeat later, the tribune dropped to a knee as well.

“I accept your loyalty and offer of service.” Stiger held out his hand, which Mechlehnus took. “You no longer need to kneel before me, General, not ever again.” With that, Stiger pulled the general to his feet and saw unabashed tears in the other man’s eyes. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Mechlehnus said.

A heartbeat later a cheer broke out from the encampment. Stiger looked and saw thousands of men clustered upon the defensive platform, gazing over the wall at them. It was a hearty cheer and just what Stiger had wanted to hear. He felt an intense moment of personal triumph. Mechlehnus and the man’s army were now his. It was one less headache to worry on.

“Command me, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said, drawing Stiger’s attention back.

At first saying nothing, Stiger turned his gaze away from the general and looked at the tribune for a moment.

“May I introduce Tribune Nama,” Mechlehnus said, having followed Stiger’s gaze. The tribune was still kneeling. “He was my camp prefect during my last command and one of the most experienced leaders of men I know. I brought him out of retirement when I assumed command of the army and had him promoted to tribune. I wanted someone who knew soldiering to be my second, especially with an army that is half green.”

That Nama was a veteran pleased Stiger. He moved over to the kneeling tribune and gazed down upon him. “You were a ranker.”

“I am, Imperator,” Nama said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir. I was born in the slums and by sheer will alone rose above the flotsam. I have not looked back since. Serving the empire and the general has been the singular honor of my life, sir.”

“I know another camp prefect,” Stiger said to the kneeling tribune. The man was looking up and had locked gazes with Stiger. “His nickname is Salt, and he now commands one of my legions. You have my respect, Tribune.”

Stiger held out his hand. Nama took it. The man’s palm was coarse and calloused from hard work. Stiger pulled him to his feet.

There was another cheer, this one heartier than the last. Nama was clearly a popular officer. Stiger waited for the cheer to die down.

“How many legions do you have at this camp?”

“Two, the Fiftieth and Forty-Second, along with five auxiliary cohorts, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said.

“After we are done here, I would like to meet your senior officers,” Stiger said. “Then we will have a loyalty ceremony for those two legions.”

“And what of the other legions, Imperator?” Mechlehnus asked. “When would you like to have their ceremony?”

“That will have to wait till another day,” Stiger said. “I must be back in the capital this night.”

“As you command, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said.

Stiger looked toward the encampment and rubbed his jaw as he considered it. The men there had fallen silent. All eyes were upon them. He turned back toward the general. He thought he saw someone with a toga on the wall. It was a flash of white cloth before it was covered up by the press. “Do you have any of the senate with you?”

“I do, sir,” Mechlehnus said. “Ten senators and their families have taken shelter with the army.”

“I would like to meet with them as well.” Stiger paused. “By any chance, would Senator Lesto be amongst them?”

“He was,” Mechlehnus said. “The senator departed yesterday, Imperator.”

Stiger felt a stab of intense disappointment. “Do you know where he went?”

“No,” Mechlehnus said. “The senators come and go as they please. He left without my knowledge, after I informed him that I intended to support your claim and swear personal loyalty to you.”

“You made the decision to support me before I arrived, then?” Stiger said, surprised.

“After I had talked with the men you sent,” Mechlehnus admitted. “I dispatched a rider to the capital last evening through the courier system. He is likely arriving at the palace as we speak.”

“Why the delay, then?” Stiger asked. “Why wait so long?”

“The senators,” Mechlehnus said. “They were debating amongst themselves, talking endlessly. I felt honor bound to hear them out. Lesto claimed he was in communication with the High Priest, which lent credence to his words. I was strongly encouraged to take the Curule Chair for myself. After all, I have an army at my back.”

“So, General, tell me, why didn’t you move to take the chair then and seize the empire?” Stiger asked.

“I didn’t want it,” Mechlehnus said plainly. “Were I to move against you and your father, a good number of the officers would not have supported me. Then there were the men to consider and, of course, the good of the empire. As we have been invaded by two enemies, the last thing the empire needs is another civil war. I refuse to be the instrument that destroys what I have spent a lifetime serving and defending.” Mechlehnus expelled a hot breath. “Besides, I am not suited for that sort of thing, for the gutter and the underhanded game of politics. I am a soldier, a leader of men. My place is in the field. It took me a few days to come to that conclusion.” Mechlehnus’s gaze went to Restus. “After what I was just shown, I now know with certainty I made the right decision.”

Stiger was silent a moment as he regarded his general. “I value those who are direct with me. I expect you to continue to speak your mind. I will never punish you for that.”

“Yes, sir,” Mechlehnus said.

“As I said earlier, the army is yours, General. I am a man of my word.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mechlehnus said. “Your trust in me is not misplaced.”

“I know it isn’t.” Stiger glanced at the encampment again. “If he returns, Lesto is to be arrested, for treason. His men made an attempt upon my life last night. I also believe him to be in league with the enemy.”

“Yes, sir.” Mechlehnus’s tone hardened. “Tribune Nama will see orders cut to that effect. If he returns, he will be apprehended.”

Stiger gave a satisfied nod. Arresting Lesto was really a secondary concern, for Venthus would eventually deal with the man. And after what he had learned, the sooner that happened, the better.

Dog stood, shook himself, and, tail wagging, padded over to the general. Mechlehnus held out his hand for the animal to sniff and received a wet tongue in reply. The general patted the dog’s head, which elicited even more vigorous tail wagging and tongue licking.

“Well,” Stiger said, “Dog approves of you. That says something.”

“His name is Dog?” Mechlehnus asked.

“At the time, I thought it appropriate,” Stiger said.

“I guess it is as good a name as any,” Mechlehnus said. “What do you wish of me, Imperator? What are your orders?”

“Send messengers to the other camps. I wish to meet the commanders of my legions and auxiliary cohorts before I leave, at least those who are close enough to reach us on short notice. If I can’t have their legions’ loyalty, I will have theirs.”

“Nama,” Mechlehnus said. “See to it immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Nama drew himself to attention and saluted. The tribune turned to go.

“Tribune Nama?” Stiger said.

“Sir?” Nama turned back.

Stiger pulled a bronze collar from where it had been tucked behind his armor and tossed it to the tribune, who caught it.

“Any you find who are wearing a collar like that or something similar are the enemy,” Stiger said. “That is how the confederacy identifies their slaves, their class status. It is one of the marks of their faith.”

Turning it over in his hand, Nama examined the collar with visible distaste.

“The one who wore that was a pretty little thing, a palace servant, who ended the life of one of my protection detail last evening. She plunged a knife into his gut and would have done the same to me given the chance. Three of our men died in the attempt and another was crippled for life.”

“I see, sir,” Nama said.

“Make sure you search anyone who came with a senator, and civilians alike,” Stiger said, “camp followers too.”

“And if we find one of the enemy?” Nama asked, looking up from the collar. “What would you like done?”

“Execute them on the spot,” Stiger said. “If they are part of a senator’s retinue, detain the rest, including the senator. I will decide what to do with them at a later time.”

“Yes, sir,” Nama said. “It will be done.”

“Some have even masqueraded as legionaries,” Restus said. “They may not be wearing a collar. Handi certainly did not.”

“I don’t think I much enjoy the idea of that,” Nama said. “Seems rather underhanded.”

“The enemy will stop at nothing to see us defeated, crushed,” Stiger said. “They are capable of anything.”

“If you don’t need me,” Restus said to Stiger, “I believe I will go with the tribune and assist him in his search for the enemy, at least get him started.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Father,” Stiger said, wondering if the paladin felt called.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Nama said, “I will make certain all commands are notified and a thorough search is conducted immediately.”

“Very good.”

Nama turned away again, and with Restus at his side, the two men began jogging back toward the encampment.

“And now, General, how about we go for a walk and get to know one another a little better,” Stiger said. “The days ahead will be difficult ones. I would like to better understand the man with whom I will be working. I would also like to hear your thoughts on the coming campaign against the Castol, the army you command, and how best to use it.”

“A walk, Imperator?” Mechlehnus asked. “Would not my headquarters be better suited for that type of a discussion?”

“Yes, a walk. We can stroll around the encampment walls while we talk. That way we will not be interrupted. Besides, there are some things you need to know that are not fit for the ears of others.” Stiger gestured at the dragon. “Then I will introduce you to Currose, Therik, and Eli. After that, we can retire to your headquarters.”

Mechlehnus looked where Stiger indicated.

“Currose is the dragon, Therik is the orc, a former king of his people, and Eli is the elven ranger,” Stiger explained.

“Ah … yes, sir.” Mechlehnus eyed the dragon warily before shifting his gaze to Therik and then back to Stiger.

“There is much that I must tell you,” Stiger said to Mechlehnus. He clapped a hand on the other man’s armored shoulder, and together, then set off, walking slowly. “Some of it will be hard to believe.”

“After what I was just shown,” Mechlehnus said, “I find that hard to believe, sir.”

“What if I told you Rome was real?” Stiger asked.

“Rome, sir?”

“Or that this armor I wear is Karus’s own? The first emperor gave it to me himself.”

Mechlehnus stopped cold in his tracks and stared at Stiger’s armor.

Stiger grinned as he stopped too. “That was my reaction as well. Come on. It was a long flight through the night to get here and my legs need some exercise. I will start with Vrell.”

Stiger began walking again. Mechlehnus fell in at Stiger’s side. Dog trailed behind. They walked in silence for more than two dozen heartbeats.

“Vrell?” Mechlehnus asked. “I’ve heard of the Vrell Valley. It is far to the south.”

“Yes, Vrell,” Stiger said and took a breath of the cold morning air. “I’m going to start there … ”

Chapter Eight

The large canvas-topped pavilion was filled with nearly fifty senior officers of the army. The sides had been rolled up, allowing in the fresh air, along with the cold. The gathered officers were all standing and gazing at Stiger with interest.

In many of their gazes he read a desperate hope, one for a better future, in which the empire was victorious over her enemies. In others, there was worry, along with fear of what was to come and what it meant to have a Stiger as emperor.

Mechlehnus stood to his right. Dog sat on his left, close enough that the animal brushed against his leg. One after the other over the last half hour, the senior officers of Mechlehnus’s army had come forward and pledged themselves to him as emperor. Only three men had refused to do so, two tribunes and a camp prefect. All had been clients of senators who were direct enemies of Stiger’s house.

On a positive note, every single one of the legionary generals that had been within a short riding distance had seen fit to bend the knee and pledge themselves. That didn’t surprise Stiger, for successfully leading a legion was a sure and proven path to social advancement.

To hold such a command was for many the chance of a lifetime. Voluntarily surrendering the position would be the last thing ambitious men would do, especially if they or their families had paid to attain their current rank, frequently acquiring heavy debts in the process.

Though he only personally knew a handful of those present, most of the family names of the men gathered before him he was familiar with. Two of those—the last two Reclinus and Taravan—waited to be called forward. Their families were not overtly friendly.

Both had been appointed generals of legions by his father. Stiger had no doubt that the consideration to appoint them had either been political and a compromise with the senate or simply that they were good commanders who had proven themselves to his father. It could also have been a mix of both reasons. Stiger did not know.

The history of the empire was littered with emperors who had found themselves murdered because they had given the wrong men too much power and an opportunity. When time permitted, he intended to ask his father, for he would not allow any man of questionable loyalty command of one of his precious legions, at least for long.

Stiger gave a nod to Mechlehnus. Both men had been intentionally saved for last. If Stiger was to make an example of the two, he wanted to do it after the rest had sworn their oaths of allegiance.

“Reclinus and Taravan,” Mechlehnus said. “Step forward, gentlemen.”

That they had been called forward together was not likely lost upon them. As they neared, outwardly, both appeared subdued, respectful. Still, Stiger could read the unease in their gazes. Both held their general’s batons, and it was clear they were wondering if they’d keep them after this encounter. First Reclinus saluted. Taravan saluted a heartbeat later.

“I offer to swear my loyalty and fealty to you, Imperator,” Reclinus proclaimed loudly as he sank to one knee and held out his baton for Stiger to take. “Though I am not head of house, my sword is yours to command.”

“Without reservation, I also swear personal loyalty and fealty to you, Imperator,” Taravan said as he sank to a knee and held out his own baton.

With those who had come before these two, Stiger had immediately taken their batons and then returned them. Now, he hesitated, eyeing the kneeling men for a long moment. As emperor, he could easily order their confinement or even their deaths for all they had done to not only him personally, but his family as well.

“We have history, gentlemen,” Stiger said, “and not the good kind either.”

They did not say anything in return. They continued to hold their batons out to him, waiting. Neither baton shook, which Stiger supposed showed their mettle and courage. And he had no doubt it took courage for them to present themselves to him.

“Why should I accept you both into my service?” Stiger asked, and with those words the tent had gone very still. The wind gusted and ruffled the canvas overhead.

“I am offering myself and my service to you, Imperator,” Reclinus said, “just as I did to your father. I am putting aside enmities and past hatreds for the good of the empire.”

“For the good of the empire?” Stiger asked in a near mocking tone. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Aye, that I do,” Reclinus affirmed. “I may not like you or your family, but I will serve you and the empire to the best of my ability. I will also do you and yours no harm.”

“No harm? How can you say that? You stood there as Lears’s senior tribune, his second in command, and watched me whipped like a common dog,” Stiger scoffed.

At his side, Dog growled menacingly at the two kneeling officers and bared his teeth. The sound of the growling made Stiger’s hair stand on end. He let it continue a moment, then held out a hand to the animal. The growling ceased.

For their credit, neither Reclinus nor Taravan shied from his gaze. They did not shrink back from the dog either.

“Despite my dislike for your family,” Reclinus said, “I protested the order and was ignored. No gentleman of senatorial rank should ever be scourged like you were. It was a disgrace and is a stain upon my honor that I was forced to be part of such an event. Immediately after your whipping, I resigned my commission rather than serve under a dishonorable officer. I now offer my service to you … in part to make amends and remove that stain from my house. That is, if you will have me, Imperator. I will fight until my dying breath for you.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he studied Reclinus for a long moment. He had not known the man had resigned in protest. Though he disliked him intensely, his respect for Reclinus increased a measure. Then he turned his gaze to Taravan.

“And you? Why should I allow you to serve me?”

“The same, Imperator,” Taravan said. “I know there is enmity in your heart for me and my family, but I ask that you put that aside for the good of the empire. I have always served well and done honor in the empire’s name as a soldier and officer should. I am a fighter. You know that, for you have seen me lead men in battle. I would ask you to allow me the opportunity to prove myself and my loyalty.”

Stiger gave a nod, hesitated a moment more, then reached forward and took both batons. He wanted nothing more than to refuse them that which they wanted, to turn both men away from his service and have them live out the rest of their lives in disgrace and ignominy.

“Rise, gentlemen,” Stiger said.

Both stood.

“I accept your oaths and fealty. You may continue to serve.”

Both men let go a breath of relief. Stiger handed back their batons, signifying the transfer of imperium.

“Cross me,” Stiger added in a low tone that only they could hear, “and it will be the last thing either of you do.”

“You will not have cause to regret this, Imperator.” Reclinus saluted crisply. “Upon my honor, I swear it so.”

“I will serve with all of my ability, Imperator,” Taravan said. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

“Very good, gentlemen.”

With that, both men took two steps back and then returned to their original positions. Stiger watched them, for what he had just done had proven unexpectedly difficult, but he had done it for the good of the empire.

Mechlehnus leaned closer and in a low tone said, “I would not have accepted their offers of service. I would have seen them turned away. But I suppose being emperor means one must occasionally be magnanimous to old enemies.”

Stiger nodded but did not reply. Each man’s family was of senatorial rank and powerful too. No matter how it turned his stomach to have Reclinus and Taravan work for him, he needed their families’ support. In a way, they were now effectively his hostages and so too were their families.

By accepting them into his service, he was attempting to indirectly tie their houses and their respective clients to his success as emperor, which would mean potential advancement and additional prestige. They were now dependent upon him for nearly everything and would ultimately be looking for some sort of reward for their continued service and loyalty. If they served well, when the time came, they would be rewarded, as would all who demonstrated and proved their loyalty.

He ran his gaze over the assembled officers again as they watched him expectantly, waiting for what was to come next. By the High Father, Stiger disliked politics, but as Therik had said, it was just another battlefield, and he had begun to embrace it as such. Was he becoming good at this game of politics? That was a question, he well knew, only time would tell.

“Gentlemen, I want to thank you for your support,” Stiger said. “This is a difficult time for the empire. On one hand, we are faced with an invasion from the south, by the Cyphan Confederacy. On the other, from the north, by the Castol.” Stiger paused, studying the officers, trying to divine their thoughts. “Under General Mechlehnus’s direct command”—Stiger gestured with a hand at the general—“this army will march against the Castol. Every man in this pavilion represents the honor of their houses and the very best of the empire itself. We will meet the enemy on the field of battle. Their warriors will break themselves upon our shield wall until, like so many enemies that have thought to attack the empire before, they are broken and defeated.”

Stiger paused for a moment, looking some of the men before him in their eyes. He noticed several nods, which was a good sign. Even if they disliked him for being who he was, they liked what they were hearing, and every one of them knew that Stigers were fighters, brawlers, with a history of coming out on top.

And yet, these were not regular legionaries to be easily persuaded or won over with a good speech, but educated and experienced men, players of politics themselves all. He had to tread carefully in what was to come.

“Many of you were appointed by or served directly with my father. I would not be surprised that you consider your loyalty to lie with him. I must be clear, with your oaths, your loyalty now rests with me, for I am your emperor and have shared my imperium with you.”

Stiger took a moment to look around the pavilion, meeting several gazes before turning to Mechlehnus. Stiger gestured with both hands at the general as he continued.

“I have complete faith and confidence in General Mechlehnus to carry out the mission I have given him. In turn, I expect you to carry out his orders as if they were my own. I will tolerate nothing less from you.” Stiger paused and slowly ran his gaze once more over the assembled officers. He wanted to take a moment to allow what he’d said to sink in.

At the back of the pavilion stood Eli, along with Therik. Both were watching the show he was putting on. And it was a show, there was no doubt about that. Beyond them, and positioned strategically around the pavilion, was Stiger’s escort. With them were Mechlehnus’s picked men. They faced outward, watching for potential threats.

Stiger’s gaze shifted back to Therik. The orc, wearing the armor of a legionary officer, had caused a stir amongst not only the common legionaries in the camp, but also the officers before him. Therik, for his part, had simply feigned disinterest or glowered at those who ventured too near to sate their curiosity.

“This isn’t the only imperial army in the field. I am certain you’ve heard the rumors. I am here to tell you they’re true. We have another army that I am bringing up from the south. Amongst them is the Lost, the Thirteenth Legion. I found them, along with the Thirteenth’s Eagle. Their honor, though questioned over the years, is untouchable, for they have served the empire’s best interests.”

There was a stirring at this news, along with whispering.

“At this moment, General Treim and the survivors from Lorium are marching north with the Thirteenth. In the south, I also discovered allies, and not just a few either. General Treim’s army is now an allied army that includes elven warriors.” Stiger gestured with a hand at Eli at the back of the tent. “There are also dwarves, our ancient allies, who Karus came to this world with, and they well remember the promises exchanged between themselves and our first emperor. They stand with us, along with the gnomes and a race you probably haven’t heard of, the Vass.”

There was another general shifting at that, along with more heated whispering. Stiger waited for the officers to settle down before continuing.

“Together, we are faced with a terrible evil, which seeks to destroy not only the empire, but everything we cherish and honor. When we are done here, Father Restus will speak to you more on that and answer any additional questions you might have.”

Stiger gestured at the paladin, who was standing off to the side. All eyes went to Restus.

“To combat this evil, gentlemen, we have our faith. We also have dragons on our side, like the one that brought me to the army and is waiting just outside the encampment to take me back to the capital.” Stiger paused again. “You’ve all seen Currose. It is important to understand, the enemy has creatures like her as well. One was even observed this morning, scouting the army encampments.”

That was clearly not welcome news, for there was yet another general shifting of feet and sharing of looks. This time there was no whispering. Stiger could sense the worry on the air.

“Soon, our own dragons will arrive to provide cover for this army and keep the enemy’s beasts, wyrms they’re called, off of you. That way, you will be able to focus on the job at hand, killing the Castol and destroying their army.”

No one said anything. All eyes were fixed upon him.

“General Mechlehnus has faced and defeated the Castol in battle. He well knows this enemy you are marching against and, more importantly, has the experience to get the job done. We cannot afford to have the Castol and Cyphan combine their armies against us. Make no mistake. That is their goal. To keep such an event from happening, you will march with haste. In the middle of winter, it will be a hard march, grueling for even the most seasoned of veterans, but one which you will make, must make. You are legionary officers of the empire. This is nothing that you and your men have not trained for, and it is what you will do. That said, when it comes time to engage the enemy, the Castol, I will be right there with you, with this army.” Stiger made a fist and shook it. “Together, we will crush them and then turn on our real enemy, the confederacy. That will be the true test. We will face it as we would any other. With the High Father’s grace, our faith, and by performing our duty to the empire, in the end, we will be victorious.”

No one said anything for a long moment, but Stiger was starting to sense conviction beginning to settle in the men before him. A little more and they would be his.

“This will not be an easy mountain to climb,” Stiger continued, “but it is one we will face together. In a short while, Father Restus will speak more on what we face, the terrible evil that confronts us all and our enemy, and what you might encounter in the field. More importantly, he will talk on faith. I’m sure that if any of you would like to renew your oaths and your family’s allegiance to the gods and request a blessing, he will make himself available to do so.”

“And I will be remaining with the army, Imperator,” Restus added.

That surprised Stiger, for they had not discussed that. He had fully expected Restus to return with him to the capitol.

“I feel called by the High Father to do so, Imperator,” Restus added.

Stiger nodded, for he well knew paladins went where the High Father called them.

Returning his attention back to the senior officers, Stiger eyed them for a moment as he gathered his thoughts before speaking. “Gentlemen, keep your faith close, whether it be with the High Father or the Old Order and your chosen deity. When the snow grows deep and the winter night becomes dark, look to your faith … for there, you will find not only comfort, but sustenance and strength.”

There were nods all around as gazes shifted between the paladin and Stiger. Not everyone in the pavilion would be religious, but he understood many likely were and, personal ambition aside, intensely so.

“As soon as I am able, I will return,” Stiger continued. “The empire is large and there are fires I must put out, including hurrying the army marching up from the south to join you and swell our numbers. Now, gentlemen, I will field a few questions before I must take my leave.”

Almost immediately, a hand went up from the front, a man named Tippo. Though they were the same age and had grown up and entered the service around the same time, Stiger only knew the man in passing. Tippo had served in another legion in the north. His family had not been direct enemies, but they did have no small measure of influence in the senate. More importantly, Stiger’s impression was that Tippo was an honorable man.

“General Tippo,” Stiger said, “please speak your mind.”

“You’re leaving and taking your dragon with you. What if the enemy sends their dragons, wyrms I believe you called them, to attack us before the others, the friendly dragons, arrive? How will we defend ourselves?”

“Good question,” Stiger acknowledged. “I very much doubt the enemy will send their wyrms against this army. In the last few weeks, we’ve killed several of their beasts, greatly thinning their numbers. I fully expect our enemies to keep their dragons close at hand and not risk them, for our dragons are larger and more powerful.”

“How long will it be before ours arrive?” Tippo asked.

“Within a few days at most,” Stiger said. “You will have Father Restus here to help. In addition to that, there are mundane means of defending the army. The dwarves and gnomes constructed powerful bolt throwers that can be mounted in the beds of wagons. These shoot skyward and, when employed properly, can kill or wound a dragon. Before I leave, I will speak with the general and his staff about what needs to be done to construct such machines. I have no doubt the engineers of each of your legions can easily replicate such weapons. That said, let me, the general, and Father Restus worry about the dragons. You concern yourselves with your men and getting them moving, for tomorrow morning the army will march, and march hard.”

“Yes, sir,” Tippo said. “Thank you, sir.”

“Next question,” Stiger said.

Another hand went up.

Stiger nodded to the man, an older tribune, clearly a veteran who had been pulled out of retirement. Stiger could not recall his name.

“Sir,” the tribune said, “is your father all right? I served over twenty years with the old man. I would have expected you to return him to command of this army.”

There was a slight muttering of agreement. Stiger understood he had to stomp out such thoughts, for they could easily undermine Mechlehnus’s authority. That could not be tolerated, as the army needed to work together to confront the challenges ahead.

“My father’s just fine. I need his help in the capital, which is why he is not here. Besides”—Stiger gestured at Mechlehnus—“if your commander did not have my confidence, I would not have kept him in command. Is that good enough, Tribune?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Have no doubt, I will follow General Mechlehnus’s orders to the letter and then some.”

“Tribune, kindly tell me your name again. I will pass on your concern for my father’s wellbeing when I next see him.”

“Tribune Arens Tullus Vellatus, Imperator. Tell him old Max said hello.”

“I will,” Stiger said, then looked over the officers again. “Next question.”

“Sir,” a general spoke up. Stiger did not recall the man’s name or what legion he commanded. “Rumors going around the camps say you are the High Father’s Champion. We all know what rumors are like. More than half of what you hear is bullshit. Could you speak on that some?”

Stiger hesitated a moment as he gathered his thoughts and looked to Father Restus. Before he could open his mouth, Therik beat him to it.

“I’ll speak on that,” Therik said from the back. The orc’s tone was hard, unforgiving, and caused everyone in the tent to turn to look at him. “That’s right, I am no mere animal and am capable of not only thinking, but speaking my mind.”

Glancing over at the orc at his side, Eli was forced to cover his mouth, for the elf’s mirth was plain. His shoulders shook slightly. Therik ignored him.

“You ask whether it is true that your emperor, the man you just swore fealty to, is the High Father’s Champion, do you? The man who flew in on a dragon? The man who stands before you with an orcish king, an elvish ranger, and a paladin of the High Father by his side? A man who has called and assembled an allied army of five races together? Do any of you in this room honestly believe that any man not blessed by the High Father himself could do just one of those things? Are you blind?”

The massive orc growled in frustration and disgust, causing the nearest men to take an involuntary step back.

“I saw your emperor personally kill not only a wyrm that had just burned hundreds of legionaries, but also a mountain troll. He had a sword for the dragon, granted it is magical, but only a dagger for the troll. Even I would have had difficulty bringing down a mountain troll with a mere dagger, not to mention substantial help.” Therik tapped his chest with a clenched fist. “And with the High Father’s help, he returned my life to me when I was on death’s doorstep, with one foot already into the shadow.”

Therik jabbed a thick finger at Stiger. “He healed me with another paladin’s help and brought me back. Your emperor has faced evil beyond compare and stood strong in its face. He defeated not only one, but two of Castor’s minions. Yes, he saved my life. For that, I owe him, but more importantly, I have come to respect him. Beyond spouting mere words, like professing your devotion to him, he has earned my loyalty through action, as he will soon earn yours if you are wise enough to give him that chance.”

There was a long moment of silence in the pavilion.

“I witnessed him crush an army of Castor in Vrell. I was there and fought at his side as he engineered that victory. Yes, I saw it with my own eyes. Then, he beat two more armies, these of the confederacy. You question whether he is truly the High Father’s Champion … after hearing this, how can you possibly doubt?”

Therik’s lips twisted with distaste as he gazed back on the human officers. “You can continue to play petty politics and be the fool if you wish … but I’d recommend not doing that. My eyes have been opened. It is time for you to open yours and accept what is plainly before you. For if you don’t and choose instead to stand in his way, then be prepared to have an issue with me.”

Another long moment of silence followed.

“What Therik says is true,” Father Restus said, drawing the officers’ attention, “all of what he has just said. This man, your emperor, has been blessed by the High Father. I have personally felt and witnessed his power in action. He is a direct descendant from Karus. Roman blood runs in his veins. There is no doubt in my mind and there should be none in yours.”

At that moment, Stiger could have hugged both Therik and Restus.

“That is good enough for me,” the general who had asked the question said. The man’s eyes held a new respect that had not been there moments before. “Thank you, Imperator. You shall not find a doubter in me.”

Stiger was about to call for another question, when off to the right, he spotted Tribune Nama waiting just outside the tent. The tribune held up a finger to get his attention. The message was clear. There was business to attend to. “That’s enough, gentlemen, no more questions for now. My time here is at an end. I must move on.” Stiger nodded at the paladin. “Father Restus, this show is now yours.”

“Thank you, Imperator.” Restus moved over to Stiger’s side and before the assembled officers.

“General,” Stiger said to Mechlehnus, “you’re with me.”

With that, the officers in the tent snapped to attention. Stiger ran his gaze over them once more and gave a nod. He turned to his left and strode out of the pavilion, with the general close on his heels. Dog followed after them.

They were in the middle of Mechlehnus’s headquarters compound, which consisted of more than a dozen tents. Several were reserved for clerks and aides. The entire compound was heavily guarded. Only those who were authorized were permitted in.

The pavilion had been the mess area for the headquarters staff until Stiger had commandeered it to meet with the senior officers of the legion. The tables and stools had been moved off to the side and stacked neatly out of the way.

A cold wind swirled around them, rustling the canvas of the nearest tents. The entire camp had been shoveled clean of snow, which left only frozen ground beneath their feet.

Stiger’s personal guard, Ruga’s men, moved in close about them. Even with Mechlehnus’s guards securing the perimeter of the headquarters compound, they were taking no chances. After what had happened in the palace, Stiger was okay with that.

“Can we speak here?” Stiger asked Nama as he came up to the man. He glanced back into the pavilion. Almost all eyes were now on Restus, who had already begun speaking to the assembled officers. Though Stiger did notice several glances thrown his way.

“I don’t see why not, sir,” Nama said. “Though the other camps have yet to report in and are likely still searching, we found several of the enemy in this one, six to be exact. They didn’t want to surrender peaceful-like when they were discovered, sir. All went down fighting. We would have killed them as ordered in either case.”

“Any casualties?” Stiger asked.

“Two men with minor cuts and abrasions, sir,” Nama said. “I expect they will make a full recovery.”

“Well, that’s something to be thankful for.” Stiger felt a measure of relief at the news. “Who were they posing as?”

“Mostly camp followers, sir,” Nama said. “One was a slave for Senator Metara. She was a pretty little thing that I doubt ever did an honest day’s work in her life, other than please the senator, if you get my meaning, sir.”

“I see,” Stiger said. “And what of the good senator?”

“As ordered, sir, he and the people he came with have been detained. They’ve been treated respectfully and not molested in any way. He’s still none too happy about it, sir.”

“No doubt,” Stiger said, thinking how a senator might react to being confined. “And what of the possessions of those found to be the enemy?”

“As Father Restus directed, sir, all such items were put aside, even the coin.” Nama looked at the paladin for a heartbeat. “He said he will check it over to make certain nothing is contaminated. I will see that happens as soon as the good father is done with the officers of the legion, sir.”

“Very good,” Stiger said.

“Do you want to see him, sir?” Nama asked.

“The senator?” Stiger asked, to which the tribune nodded. Stiger glanced up at the sky. The sun was beginning to make its way toward the horizon. It was already late afternoon. As it was, after the coming meeting with the senators, he’d likely be departing late and well beyond sunset, which meant a very cold flight home with little sleep. “I don’t believe I have the time for that. Not now.”

“I know Metara, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said, speaking up and drawing Stiger’s attention. “In his youth, he was a good officer, granted, a fool when it came to women and drink, but overall, a good man in my estimation. I cannot imagine him actively plotting against the empire.”

“All right, then, we will give him the benefit of the doubt … for the moment.” Stiger turned his attention back to Nama. “Have him transported back to the capital under a heavy guard and delivered to my father. We will deal with him later and determine whether he was working with the enemy or simply was another fool whom the enemy led around by his prick.”

“Aye, sir,” Nama said. “What of the senior officers who refused to bend the knee?”

“Are they being held in this camp?” Stiger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Nama said. “I set aside a tent for them in the headquarters compound in the event you wished to see them. I also placed a guard on the tent to ensure they did not wander and cause trouble.”

“I don’t need to meet with them. Their service to the empire is done. Effective immediately, they are dismissed from service and are free to go as civilians. That said, they are not to remain in camp longer than necessary. Give them three days’ rations and get them out. I will not risk having them spread bile or actively working against us amongst the junior officers or rank and file. Understand me on this?”

“Yes, sir,” Nama said. “I will keep them detained while their possessions are gathered and packed. All own horses. They won’t have a problem returning to Mal’Zeel. I assume anyone else refusing to serve, say in the camps farther afield, is to be given the same treatment?”

“You assume correct,” Stiger said.

“What about replacements for them?” Mechlehnus asked. “Those are all senior positions.”

“Choose replacements you feel appropriate. Make sure you advise my father on who gets the nod. He will confirm or deny any appointment. Until then, they are provisional appointments. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Mechlehnus said. “I can easily do that. The army has some good candidates to choose from.”

“Where are the rest of the senators waiting?” Stiger asked.

“In the general’s office, sir,” Nama said. “They’ve been provided refreshment.”

Stiger glanced over at Mechlehnus. “Let’s get this over with then. Lead on, General.”

Chapter Nine

“Excuse me, General, I have an urgent message for you from headquarters.”

Stiger and Mechlehnus ground to a halt and turned away from the tent they were heading for. A legionary officer, a young lieutenant, had come up from their left. He held a dispatch in a hand and had halted when Stiger’s protection detail had closed up and raised their shields to keep him from drawing nearer.

“Let him through,” Mechlehnus ordered curtly.

The guards did not budge. Instead, Optio Crespo, who stood directly before the messenger, turned and looked to Stiger for direction.

“Sir?” Crespo asked.

Clearly unhappy that his orders were not being followed, Mechlehnus scowled. “I know this man, Imperator. He is part of my headquarters family. There is nothing to fear.”

Stiger gave a nod to Crespo, who immediately relaxed, lowered his shield, and stood aside for the man to pass. A cold gust of wind took that moment to blow around them, rustling the fabric of the nearest tents and stirring cloaks. Stiger glanced up at the sky. Scattered clouds were slowly scudding their way across a vast blueness.

“You may proceed, sir,” Crespo said to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant eyed Stiger’s guards warily for a heartbeat, then stepped forward, moving past them. He came to attention before the general, saluted, and then held out the dispatch.

Mechlehnus took it, opened it, and scanned the contents. He glanced at Stiger ever so briefly then returned his attention to the dispatch and finished reading.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Mechlehnus said as he tucked the message away and into a pocket in his tunic. “I will not have a reply. Notify my head clerk, when we are done here, I will shortly have orders for him to cut. Also, alert Tyrus that movement orders for his command will be coming.”

The lieutenant, still standing to attention, saluted. The young man glanced at Stiger with curious eyes, then spun on his heel and left with a purpose.

“Anything interesting?” Stiger asked, wondering what was so important that Mechlehnus’s headquarters clerks thought it crucial enough to interrupt them. Stiger was fairly sure Mechlehnus had passed orders that they were not to be disturbed. “Bad news?”

“I believe some good news actually,” Mechlehnus said, turning to face Stiger. He paused for a long moment. “Tell me, Imperator, would you be missing a part of the imperial treasury?”

Stiger went still at that.

“Rumors have it,” Mechlehnus added after a moment, “well … Senator Lesto told me the High Priest … Magnus, took some of treasury with him when he fled the capital. Is there any truth to that?”

“He took all of it,” Stiger admitted.

“All?” Mechlehnus seemed for a moment incredulous. “That must have taken some effort to pull off.”

“I want it back. I also want Magnus. He’s a disgrace who turned his back on his god. But when it comes to the treasury, the empire needs it, and badly, especially now. That must be our priority.”

“I see,” Mechlehnus said.

“Now, tell me, General, what did you learn?”

“A cavalry patrol about two dozen miles to the south of this very spot came upon a disabled heavy freight wagon. It was along an isolated farmer’s road and had been left in a stand of trees. The wagon had a broken axel, which explains why it had been abandoned. No one was about. When they opened one of the crates in the bed, fresh coin from the mint was found, and a lot at that. The prefect in charge of the patrol estimates the wagon alone contains several million silver talons.”

Stiger’s mind raced as he thought on the implications of what he’d just learned. One wagon would have been only a small portion of the treasury. That it was so heavily laden meant that the wagon train fleeing with the empire’s funds would be crawling along at a painfully slow pace. They would not have gotten far, perhaps at most a hundred or maybe two hundred miles.

“A local they encountered nearby mentioned seeing thirty such wagons pass by less than a week ago. Temple guardsmen were escorting the wagons. They were heading south, likely for the town of Ayer.”

“Ayer?” Stiger was unfamiliar with the place, other than the name. “Why there?”

“There are springs there,” Mechlehnus said. “They are reputed to have healing properties.”

“What does that have to do with things?” Stiger asked, not following the man’s logic. “Why would Magnus take the treasury there?”

“The priesthood runs the springs,” Mechlehnus said. “They charge a fee for its use.”

“You are thinking Magnus is headed there for support?”

“It’s possible,” Mechlehnus said. “If he’s on the run, I doubt he will stop there for long, maybe to provision and then push on. Honestly, I don’t know what the man is thinking. I’ve never been impressed with him. He always seemed to be a money grubber more than anything else.”

Stiger felt a moment of absolute relief mixed with triumph. He finally had a clue on where the High Priest was headed or at the very least a general direction. People would notice a wagon train like that, especially with a guard. That some of the treasury had been located and recovered was also good news.

It was a small portion of what had been taken, but something was better than nothing. The funds would help in the short run. How long those millions would last was another problem, but one he was happy to have.

“General, when we are finished with the senators, would you kindly order a search for the rest of the treasury? We now have a trail to follow, and I want Magnus hunted down.”

“With your permission, I will detach an auxiliary cavalry company, along with a heavy infantry company to back them up, if that is agreeable?”

“Who do you have in mind to command?” Stiger asked, wanting to know more. “It must be a reliable man.”

“My son.”

“I was unaware you had a son, General,” Stiger said, thinking back to what his father had told him about Mechlehnus. “In fact, if I recall correctly, I was told you were childless.”

“Tyrus has long served me. He has been the son I never had but always wanted, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said. “I trust him with my life, and since I have no direct heirs to leave my estate and holdings to, I formally adopted him just before the campaign began. He is a hard but honest man, with a good heart. He is also strong of faith, which is important to me, and is a soldier’s soldier, respected by the men he leads.” Mechlehnus paused for a long moment. “After I am gone from this life and step into the shade, I’d like to see him and his family provided for. I love his children as if they were my own grandchildren.”

Stiger reflected for a moment. “Well then, I have no objection to him commanding the expedition. If he tracks down Magnus and recovers the treasury, I will see that he is well-rewarded. That said, I think I will have Eli accompany this expedition.”

“Eli is the elven ranger?” Mechlehnus asked. “The one who accompanied you?”

“Yes, and he should prove to be a significant help in tracking the wagons down, especially if they pushed on or bypassed Ayer.”

“Thank you, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said. “I am sure my son will welcome such assistance. I’ll have the wagon that was recovered, along with its contents, sent onto the capital with dispatch.” Mechlehnus paused. “And if we find Magnus? What do you want done with him?”

Stiger glanced the way they had just come, where Father Restus was still speaking to the senior officers of the army, and considered what to do. The High Priest had proven to be not only a disgrace to his faith but one who had turned his back on his god and empire. He was sorely tempted to order the man trussed like a pig and paraded all the way to the capital and through it, where he would order the resurrection of one of the ancient punishments involving a venomous-snake-filled sack and a fall from a cliff. But no, justice needed to be administered, and fairly. He ground his teeth. “Have him face Father Restus first. If he survives that encounter, you can forward him onto the capital where he will face my judgment.”

Mechlehnus gave a nod. “It shall be as you command, Imperator.”

“Thank you, General. You have brightened my day a tad with your news. Good work.” Stiger turned back to the tent they had come to, which acted as the man’s office. “Now, let’s go see the senators.”

Stiger moved up the last few feet to the tent. The guard standing duty outside the entrance came to attention before pulling aside the flap. Stiger, followed by Mechlehnus, stepped inside and out of the cold wind, which gusted again.

Enhanced with a rich patterned rug covering the frozen ground, the general’s tent was of the finest quality. A scented brazier smoked off to the left, filling the tent with a minty smell.

A well-used camp desk with a stool had been placed against the back wall. There were two standing tables that had been set off to the sides. These were large enough to hold maps, but instead were bare but for several jars and mugs. A half-eaten cheese and meat platter lay on one of the tables. A large trunk sat out of the way against the tent wall. This likely held Mechlehnus’s personal or important papers.

Stiger found nine men waiting. Gathered together in the center of the large tent, they had been huddled together, talking quietly amongst themselves. Almost as one, they fell silent as Stiger entered, turning to face him and Mechlehnus. All were wearing togas of the finest quality. Stiger could feel the tension on the air, nervous anticipation mixed with a measure of fear.

He took another couple steps into the tent and stopped before them, taking a long silent moment to study the senators. All were men his father’s age or slightly older.

Here before him were men of power, or at least they had been. All were politicians and would not have risen to or maintained their current station had they not excelled at what they did. Stiger knew they were ruthless men all. He understood he must be on guard, for trusting them fully was out of the question. But … he, too, could be utterly ruthless. He would not play their game. They would jump to his tune and play his. It was as simple as that.

“You are Bennulius Stiger?” one of the senators demanded, moving forward before the others. He was older, balding, and thin to the point of looking unhealthy. His toga hung loosely on his bony frame and his face was emaciated, wrinkled, and scarred from past disease. He had a high-pitched, nasally voice and it was filled with irritation. “We’ve been here for more than an hour and were not permitted to leave either.”

Stiger chose to not immediately react. He did not like the man’s tone or his attitude. This senator might be accustomed to the civilized norms of the senate, where violence was a rarity and one could speak as one wished generally without fear of consequence. Within the confines of that chamber, free speech was expected and usually tolerated. But they were not in the senate. They were in Stiger’s world.

Pushing aside his bearskin cloak, and revealing his sword and armor, Stiger placed his hands on his hips and, with a hard glare, took a menacing step nearer the senator, almost but not quite intruding on his personal space. The senator blinked, blanched, and took an involuntary step backward. His face, already pasty, completely drained of color.

“I believe, Herus,” Mechlehnus said, “the honorific you are looking for is imperator.”

Herus licked his lips and glanced at his comrades for support. The others had gone still, their gazes fixed upon Stiger. Realization as well as a smidgen of common sense seemed to come to Herus. He inclined his head slightly in a show of respect for Stiger but did not speak.

“Forgive him, Imperator.” Another senator stepped forward. He was on the larger side, with a kindly, clean-shaven face and only wisps of gray hair remaining to either side of his head. He clasped his thick fingers together, interlacing them before his rotund stomach, and offered Stiger a smile that could almost be described as friendly. “To say the last few weeks have been difficult for us is an understatement. With such upheaval, we are all on edge.”

“And you are?” Stiger asked, turning his attention to the man. “I would have your name, sir.”

Mechlehnus stepped forward. “Imperator, allow me to introduce Senator Talus Corvus Mishlen. If he could be said to have a friend in this world, I would be it. Only, he has no friends. Isn’t that right, Mishlen?”

Stiger glanced over at Mechlehnus, who was gazing at Mishlen. There was an amused glint to the general’s gaze as he and the senator shared a brief look.

“I do not have friends,” Mishlen replied, returning his gaze to Stiger.

“Is that so?” Stiger got the impression both were indeed friends and had been for a very long time.

“Senator Mishlen once served as my senior tribune,” Mechlehnus explained.

“That was in my youth, and it was an experience beyond compare,” Mishlen said. “I learned a great deal, enough so that it taught me the military was not the place for me, Imperator.”

“He’s being rather unkind to himself,” Mechlehnus said. “He was one of the best senior tribunes to ever serve under my command. I sorely felt his loss when he returned to civilian life.”

“Let us be honest, Mechlehnus, I was barely useful and more a burden than anything else, a pampered youth whose father pushed him to military service against his will. You were the real leader, not me. We both know that.”

“Nonsense.” Mechlehnus waved a dismissive hand and turned to Stiger. “He was a fine administrator and not a half bad leader in the field either. On one occasion, with several detached companies, he found himself cut off and on his own. They were surrounded by a horde of barbarians, more than twice their number and all looking for imperial blood. Mishlen took charge of what had become a disaster. He kept his head, his composure, and after several trying hours, managed to skillfully extricate the bulk of his men. He got them to safety. In my estimation, that was something not easily done by even the most experienced of field commanders.”

Mishlen simply offered a weak smile in reply. Though he covered it well, Stiger recognized the pain in the other man’s eyes. The experience, it seemed, haunted him still. Stiger’s estimation of the senator increased.

“We lost a lot of good boys that day.”

“And in the process killed good number of the enemy,” Mechlehnus said. “It made the job of suppressing that tribe much easier.”

“The lesson I took from that, especially the suppressing part, was that my battlefields are best fought with words on the senate floor and in backroom negotiations … cutting deals instead of barbarians. I lost my best friend during that campaign. Since then, I keep no friends and therefore am beholden to no one. Life is much … much simpler that way.”

“I believe I understand, Senator,” Stiger said, then turned his attention back to Herus, who had recovered some of his composure, and spared the man a hard glare before looking over at the other senators. “I am Bennulius Stiger, your emperor.”

“You have yet to be confirmed by the senate,” Herus fairly blurted. “To declare yourself so is presumptuous. Until such time as the senate—”

“Let us get something straight right now, gentlemen,” Stiger said, interrupting the man. “I want there to be no misunderstanding. All of you have vast estates, holdings, and extensive client networks. You are wealthy beyond compare. I will, for the moment, assume you are not stupid men, blinded by your own self-importance.” Stiger spared Herus a brief look. “We are invaded by two enemies. Both hate us with a passion and wish to see the empire ground to dust. The Castol are sweeping down from the north. The confederacy has come up from the south.” Stiger paused for a heartbeat to suck in a breath. “The Cyphan, who are our real enemy, are not interested in taking prisoners. Nor do they care about negotiating a backroom deal. They will not leave you or any other imperial in a position of power when they are finished with us. They have depopulated the entire south, and I mean killed everyone they could get their hands on. They crucify imperials, especially nobles, like those gathered in this tent.”

“I have heard such tales,” one of the senators said, a frail-looking man. “I have holdings around Aeda, several plantations and a mine.”

Stiger turned his gaze to the man. “They are no more, Senator. I saw what they did to Aeda and those who lived around the city … the miles and miles of dead staked out along the road north. That sight and the smell is one I will not soon forget. I fear it will haunt me for the rest of my days.”

Stiger paused for several heartbeats to let that sink in. The senators glanced at one another, then returned their attention to Stiger.

“And now the Cyphan have taken Asti, along the coast,” Stiger continued. “The gods only know what they’ve done there to the populace and to two other nearby cities, which fell within the last few days. Make no mistake, it is only a matter of time before their entire host begins marching north. The Cyphan will come at us with their considerable might. I will face them in battle. That is what I do, and I win. But … we need to stand together, united to defeat them. I cannot do this without you. For the sake of the empire, we need to work as a team.” Stiger offered a bitter smile and felt the scar on his cheek pull tight. “My dear senators, whether the senate has confirmed me or not is immaterial. I command the armies of the empire, not you. There is no one left standing with more power than myself. You can work with me, support my efforts, or stand against me.” Stiger put a casual hand upon his sword hilt and felt the tingle, along with a surge of mounting irritation, much of which was directed at Herus. “I’d not advise that, for then you would be my enemy, just as surely as the Castol or the confederacy.”

“We are all loyal to the empire,” Herus said, though there was a slight tremble to his voice. “Threats … such threats are not needed.”

“I do not threaten. I tell you how it is, plainly, so that there can be no misunderstanding. When I defeat our enemies, all of you will retain your extensive estates and holdings, provided you support me. Perhaps you might even grow your wealth, especially after I take the fight to the enemy’s homeland. Back me”—Stiger tapped his armored chest with a thumb—“and you are betting on the empire. Chose the opposite side, oppose me, and you will surely lose everything you value, including your lives.”

Stiger paused again. When he spoke next, his tone came out as a near growl.

“I am the empire.”

Silence followed. Even Mishlen looked somewhat cowed. Several of the senators glanced at one another.

After a long moment, Mishlen cleared his throat. “Well. I find your argument not only cogent, but a compelling one to boot. And honestly, I have worked too hard over the course of a lifetime to lose everything I have accumulated and value. I wish to live out my last years in comfort and surrounded by family. Emperor Stiger, you have my wholehearted support.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Stiger said. “Your support is most welcome. I shall not forget it.”

Mishlen looked around at the other senators, stopping on Herus. “And I dare say, you have our support. Otherwise, we would have departed with Lesto. Most of us are too old to live a life on the run or make an enemy of someone as powerful as yourself, Imperator. Isn’t that right, Herus?”

Herus turned his gaze to Mishlen and held it for a long moment. He blew out a breath and shifted his attention back to Stiger.

“It is, Imperator,” Herus said, sounding defeated. The man’s bony shoulders slumped slightly. “You have my support … as of that of my house and client network. It is willingly given. I will stand with you.”

Stiger wondered what power play the man had planned to attempt. Whatever it had been, Stiger had thoroughly disarmed him … at least for the moment. Still, Herus would be one senator that would bear watching.

“So,” Mishlen said, “I understand you have been anointed by the new High Priestess. The next step is to get you your quorum so we can make it official and legal. Then, the empire can celebrate.”

“Yes,” Stiger agreed. “That would be the next step.”

“How many senators do you have now?” Herus asked.

“In the capital, seven, including my brother,” Stiger said.

“Seven is a start.” Mishlen glanced at the other senators. “Now, you have sixteen.”

“Sixteen is not a quorum,” Herus added.

“No, it is not,” Mishlen agreed, frowning slightly at his fellow senator.

“I was hoping some of you might know where a few more of your colleagues are hiding out,” Stiger said, “and perhaps encourage them to return to the capital, with guarantees of safety, of course.”

“On that,” Mishlen said, “we might be able to help you out, Imperator. Many of our fellows have retreated to their country estates and are waiting until the smoke blows over. Such guarantees will prove healthy enticements to get them to return to the comforts of the capital.”

Stiger was heartened to hear that.

“If General Mechlehnus would be kind enough to lend us a dozen messengers, I dare say tonight,” Mishlen said, glancing around at the other senators again, “we can write and invite them back to the capital. Perhaps we might even advise them they will be safe from any potential future retribution.”

“Retribution?” Stiger asked. “I already said I would guarantee their safety.”

“That is not the same as seeking retribution and punishment for past actions, Imperator,” Mishlen said. “If they believe there will be a consequence for voting for Lears, then they may not return and there would be no quorum. There is also the fact that you are a Stiger. Some will surely have been familial enemies.”

“I see,” Stiger said as he considered the other man’s words. In addition to that, the senate had voted to install Lears over himself, rather than have a Stiger take the reins of the empire.

“It would be helpful,” Herus added, “Imperator, if you would overlook such a lapse in judgment, for even those assembled here in this tent cast their votes for the man you recently ended in an exceptionally violent manner. Consider perhaps we simply had no choice at the time. Overlooking that might just get you the quorum you seek.”

Stiger eyed Herus and the gathered senators for a long moment. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. They’d had a choice, all right, but had made the wrong one, and now they were scared shitless he’d take his vengeance out on them.

He gave a slow nod. “There will be no retribution. I give my word as a Stiger on that. However, any who return will vote to confirm me as emperor. That is my price to overlook poor choices and past deeds. We can deal with whatever comes next after that.”

“I find that quite an agreeable stance, Imperator,” Mishlen said. “As I am certain we all do. Now, Imperator, allow me to introduce your newest supporters in the senate.”

Chapter Ten

With Mechlehnus following, Stiger ducked out of the tent, leaving the senators behind. His personal guard waited just outside. Optio Crespo had clearly relieved the general’s men and had his own take positions around the tent.

The two men standing to either side of the entrance flap snapped to attention as Stiger and Mechlehnus passed them by.

“Fall in on the emperor, boys,” Crespo barked as Stiger walked several paces from the tent and then came to an abrupt stop. Armor chinking, Crespo’s men hurriedly formed a bubble around their emperor.

Stiger paid them no mind. The camp about them was heavily shadowed, and the sun, just peeking over the tops of the nearest tents, was close to completing its journey back down over the horizon. The temperature had already begun to drop and Stiger’s breath steamed on the air.

He was not looking forward to the flight back to the capital. It would be bitterly cold and uncomfortable. His visit to the army had taken longer than expected. He should have anticipated that, for nothing done right was ever a quick job.

The sounds of the camp came from every direction—shouts, orders passed along from officers and sergeants, the staccato of hammering, a wagon creaking by behind the tent line to their front, a curse, mules braying in protest. It was all deeply familiar.

Yet the sounds on the air seemed more active than usual. For a moment, he wondered why, for the hour was growing late. The legions should be preparing to settle in for the night.

Then Stiger understood.

The orders had already been cut. Mechlehnus and Nama had taken the initiative. The legions that occupied this camp, and likely the others as well, were now readying themselves to march, which would start early the next morning, likely before the sun emerged from over the horizon.

For a moment, Stiger felt a desperate longing. Now that he wore the purple, and was no longer just a simple imperial officer, he found that he missed the legion, life as a simple soldier. And Stiger had enjoyed being a member of that elite organization. It had taught him that when everyone pulled and worked together, the impossible could be accomplished, sometimes with ease.

For so long the legions had been his home. It was still difficult to reconcile that his place was no longer here as a soldier and officer in the field leading and caring for his men.

Stiger well recalled setting out to serve with Third Legion, the beginning of his service as a legionary, the journey that had taken him to the far north and set him on a path to a destiny he could hardly have imagined.

That had been years ago. He’d been filled with dreams of glory and conquest, determined to make a mark for himself and erase the stain on his family. He’d also desired to set himself apart from his father. It had all been a fantasy, nothing more than unrealistic notions of a boy yet to become a man.

It hadn’t taken long for those youthful illusions to be shattered, crushed in the fires of battle. He’d been set straight, thanks to Tiro, Varus, and his first captain, Cethegus.

In a way, it felt odd to be grateful to someone as incompetent and despicable as that man had been. But Cethegus had taught Stiger a lesson he’d never forgotten, how not to comport oneself as a leader. It had been a lesson that had stuck fast and hard. And over the years, Stiger had met many men just like the late captain.

Rubbing his jaw, Stiger mused that he had indeed come a long way. Despite everything, he had achieved all he had set out to do and so, so much more. He had already more than exceeded the goals that young boy had. More importantly, he had made a mark for himself, outside of the shadow of his father and his tarnished name. He was emperor now and had erased the stain he had, in ignorance, thought had colored his family’s honor.

“Sir?” Mechlehnus asked. “Are you all right?”

Stiger snapped back to the present. Lost in his thoughts, he had been gazing about the headquarters portion of the camp. He looked over at the general and considered the man for a moment.

“For nearly all my life,” Stiger said, “I’ve been a soldier. There were times I both loved and hated what I did, but I mostly loved it. Now I must be an emperor. It might sound strange, but I miss this life, being a soldier … being a cog in a great machine.”

“It doesn’t sound strange at all, sir, at least to me,” Mechlehnus said. “I’ve been fortunate as an equite. Though I had served much of my life in the legions leading a company, then becoming a senior tribune, I was for one brief span permitted the opportunity to command a small army in the field. It proved just enough time to crush an enemy army, to earn myself a measure of prestige, and put a capstone on a long career, my service and dedication to the empire I loved.”

“The Castol army you smashed, then,” Stiger surmised. “That is of what you speak?”

“Yes,” Mechlehnus answered with a distant look, as if he were reliving past events. “Ever since I was a child, I knew I was meant to lead men in battle, to do great things. It may sound strange, but for that one brief instant, I achieved all that I had sought. I was happy, content, and proud. I’d showed everyone, even those who doubted, what I was capable of doing. I was given an ovation in the senate, wined and dined by the elites. I was the most popular person in Mal’Zeel. Then, suddenly I wasn’t. It was snatched away. I found myself relegated to retirement and a family life for which I was ill-suited and prepared. In the end, I was left feeling bitter and unfulfilled. I knew there was more to do, more to be done, business left unfinished … so when this opportunity came, I jumped at it, wholeheartedly too.”

“I understand.” Stiger placed a hand on the older man’s armored shoulder. “Great things still need to be done. You lead an imperial army that marches to battle. Serve me well and this command will not be taken from you … at least until you’ve decided you don’t want it anymore. This army is yours, General. You have my word on that, and I always keep my word.”

Mechlehnus stared at him for several silent moments, as if weighing Stiger’s words for their truthfulness. “I’ve become an old man, Imperator. This will most certainly be my last campaign, and I intend it to be a memorable one. I will do all that I can to prove worthy of that with which you have entrusted me. I shall not flag, nor will I fail you in this endeavor.”

“I expect you won’t, General,” Stiger said. “I expect you won’t.”

Mechlehnus glanced back toward the tent. The senators were beginning to file out, talking amongst themselves as they went in the opposite direction. The general scowled slightly as he watched them.

“What?” Stiger asked. “What are your thoughts?”

Mechlehnus hesitated as he turned to Stiger.

“Speak your mind, General. I will never punish you for that. You need to begin taking me at my word, for I am a plainspoken man.”

“Yes, sir,” Mechlehnus said. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you’ve fully won them over. For the moment, you have their support. That may not, and likely will not, last. They are politicians and cannot be trusted. Their moods change with the wind.”

“And what of your friend, Mishlen?” Stiger asked. “Can I trust him?”

“Of course not,” Mechlehnus said with a bark of a laugh. “He’s a politician too and one of the worst of the bunch, underhanded and conniving at the best of times.” The general grew serious. “I hope you understand how things work, Imperator, because I once thought I did and was betrayed for placing my faith in the system.”

“Then why is Mishlen your friend?” Stiger asked, curiously.

“Because even an old man needs friends, someone to pass the quiet hours with and talk about the days of our youth, ones which you can’t ever have back.”

Movement caused Stiger to turn. Eli and Therik approached. Stiger’s escort moved aside for them to pass. Crespo gave a genial nod to Therik, which was returned by the orc.

“What have you two been up to?” Stiger asked. “I’ve not seen you for some time—since the meeting with the officers. I trust you’ve been staying out of trouble?”

“Therik wanted to check in on Tiro and Lepidus.” Eli glanced at Mechlehnus. “Both were treated well and have been released. I’ve arranged for them to meet us at the dragon. They’re likely already there and wondering what’s keeping us.”

“I too am a man of my word,” Mechlehnus said to Stiger. “Besides, I had already told you I’d made up my mind to support you. How would it have looked had I mistreated your people?”

“I appreciate your restraint in the handling of them,” Stiger said. “Both men are dear to my heart.”

“I gathered as much. May I make a request of you, Imperator?” Mechlehnus asked. “A big one?”

“Go ahead,” Stiger said, wondering what was coming.

“I was impressed by your man Tiro,” Mechlehnus said. “Not only is he a fighter, but he has brains too, and that is a rare commodity. He was also on General Treim’s staff, and I hold that man in high regard. He only surrounds himself with the best of the best.”

“Tiro is one of the finest men I’ve ever had the pleasure to serve with,” Stiger said. “I guess you could say he helped make me into the man I am today.”

“If he made a man of you,” Eli said, speaking up in a shocked tone and visibly suppressing a grin, “then what did I do? Ben, I would really like to know.”

Stiger glanced over at his friend and gave an amused grunt. “If you don’t know by now, you never will.”

Therik let go a soft chuckle. “The elf’s always been a little slow on picking up the obvious, though he states it all the time.”

“Slow, me?” Eli said. “Therik, I am shocked you would think such a thing possible.”

“What about Tiro?” Stiger asked, turning his attention back to Mechlehnus and getting the conversation back on track. They were wasting time and Stiger wanted to be on his way.

“I inherited your father’s headquarters staff. They’re all his people, and good ones at that. I’d like Tiro to ride herd on the clerks for me and manage my headquarters company, in essence be one of my chief aides, someone I can count on to get the job done and work to lessen my headaches. Do you think he’s up for that? More importantly, could you see yourself parting with him? Considering what lies ahead, I will need all the good men I can get my hands on.”

“I see.” Stiger thought on the general’s request. He had intended on keeping Tiro with him, but Mechlehnus had an undeniable need as well and Tiro could make a difference here with the army. In Stiger’s experience, his old comrade had always done just that. “I trust Tiro with my life and leaned heavily on him when the need arose. I don’t see why you cannot do the same. I believe you will find him not only helpful, but very useful.”

“I’d prefer to have him, not as a spy for you, sir,” Mechlehnus added, “but someone upon whom I can rely and place my trust and confidence in.”

Stiger let go a breath. “I was planning on placing him on my own staff. I owe Tiro my life more than once over. That said, I’ll leave the decision up to him. He’s earned that right. I will extend your request to him. If he wants to stay, he can. I will not stand in his way.”

“Fair enough,” Mechlehnus said.

“If he does choose to stay, I’d ask you to look out for him as well. I suspect you will in any event.”

“I will,” Mechlehnus confirmed. “He will be part of my headquarters family.”

“Very good. Are there any questions as to what we discussed for the coming campaign? I’d like to be on my way. As it is, it will be a long flight home.”

“Just the thought of flying on such a creature is unnerving,” Mechlehnus admitted. “I don’t know how you do it, sir.”

“One becomes accustomed to it,” Stiger said. “And besides, it allows me to travel faster.”

“It is rather exciting,” Eli said, “exhilarating too, seeing the ground as a bird does.”

“If you say so,” Therik said. “I prefer my feet to remain planted firmly upon the ground.”

“You can stay with Tiro if you wish,” Eli said to the orc. “The general here might even find a use for a big, strapping orc like you. I’m sure the Castol would be terrified to see one such as yourself meet them in the front ranks. It would also solve the problem of constantly listening to your stomach growling and demands to be fed, or pestering me and Ben, prattling on about this or that, and your continual preaching. Honestly, Therik, there are days it becomes exhausting. Go with Mechlehnus. One stone, two birds, you might say.”

Mechlehnus shot a concerned glance to the elf.

“Maybe,” Eli continued, “if you do not wish to remain with the good general here, you could walk back to the capital instead of flying. Now that sounds like fun, doesn’t it? A good hike designed to bolster the constitution and remove your greenish pallor. Oh wait, all orcs have green skin. That’s your natural color, isn’t it?” Eli waved a hand at the orc. “Never mind that last bit. Think of all the interesting things you might see along the way, and how green you’ll be doing it! You might even manage to terrify an unsuspecting farmer or two.”

“Funny, elf, very funny.” Therik grinned at the elf and jabbed a thumb at Stiger. “Though a walk, as you say, sounds fun, for better or worse, I’m sticking with him.”

Mechlehnus let go an almost imperceptible breath.

“Oh, you think I am funny?” Eli asked in a serious vein. “Dare I begin to hope we are making progress at developing your sense of humor?”

“Can I knife him?” Therik asked Stiger seriously. “I promise not to kill him, only to make it hurt—a little. It might get him to shut up for a while. He says I’m irritating, but I wonder how he calls himself a ranger when his lips let so much hot air out, he could be heard listening to his own voice for miles and miles, patting himself on the back about how good he is at this or that.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent ranger, and not only the flowers, but all the plants and trees love the sound of my voice. You know … they never, ever have complained. And knife me? Really, Therik? I do not think that thought terribly funny. You must try harder with your humor.”

The orc gave a deep growl.

“Any questions, General?” Stiger asked, turning his attention away from the two, for left unchecked Eli and Therik could go on and on. Over the last few months, as a way to pass the time, they had made a game of it.

“I will carry out the campaign plans as set forth by your father,” Mechlehnus said to Stiger. “As I told you, I never halted the cavalry that were sent ahead. Within the next two weeks they should begin their work at severing the Castol’s communications, thereby drawing the enemy’s eyes away from this army. Under their cover, we will move with speed. I will only deviate from the plan if circumstances warrant it. I will also forward regular updates on to the capital to keep you apprised on our progress.”

“Perfect,” Stiger said. “And I will send dragons just as soon as they are available. You may even use them for critical, time-sensitive communications, for they can travel faster and farther than a horse. Otherwise, use the normal courier system.”

“I will, Imperator,” Mechlehnus said.

“Right then, General,” Stiger said, “with the army preparing to march, I am certain you have a lot on your plate. I will not keep you any longer and will take my leave.”

“Yes, sir.” Mechlehnus snapped to attention and offered a crisp salute.

Instead of returning the salute, Stiger held out his hand. Though he had only known the general for a short time, it was an offer of friendship, for Stiger had already warmed to the man.

“Good fortune, General.”

Mechlehnus took Stiger’s hand, looking him in the eyes, and shook firmly. “To you too, sir. Good fortune.”

With that, Stiger turned away and started moving toward the encampment’s main gate. His guard formed a bubble around them as Eli and Therik fell in at his side. Dog appeared from seemingly nowhere, barked once, and then blazed the way ahead.

As they left the headquarters compound, the guards on sentry duty came to attention and saluted. Then they were out in the camp proper, with legionaries all about them. As they marched down the street toward the main gate, men respectfully stepped out of the way or stopped what they were doing. Open-mouthed, many of them simply stared at Stiger and his entourage as they passed.

“Stand to attention,” a sergeant hollered in an irritated tone, his voice coming like a crack on the cold evening air. In response, as if of one mind, they all snapped obediently to attention.

Stiger nodded to the sergeant as he passed. “Carry on, Sergeant.”

“Yes, Imperator,” the sergeant, who also was standing stiffly to attention, replied.

That scene was repeated over and over again as they moved down the street, passing from one company area to the next. Then, before Stiger knew it, they were at the gate.

A young lieutenant, likely the duty officer, stepped out of the gatehouse and, with the guards on duty, came to attention. He offered Stiger a crisp salute as Dog dashed by him and out into the open. Stiger noted the armor of the officer and his men was well-maintained. He glanced back into the camp. All of the men had been turned out well. That spoke on Mechlehnus and the men he commanded. With the change in command, from his father to Mechlehnus, discipline had been maintained. It was a good sign.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” Stiger said as he swept by the man, and then they were out of the encampment. Dog had bolted forward and, seeming to enjoy himself, was running for all he was worth. Chunks of snow flew up in his wake as he dashed this way and then that before coming back to them, only to fly by.

Curled up with her head tucked against her tail, Currose waited ahead, right where he had left her. With the dragon were Tiro and Lepidus. Both men were lying upon the ground, using their packs for pillows. After moving forty feet from the gate, Stiger came to a stop and turned to gaze back on the encampment. He ran his eyes over the walls, noting the sentries. Most of those in view were looking his way or at the dragon.

Smoke from thousands of fires from within the camp rose up into the sky, creating an ugly pall that hung, almost stubbornly, overhead. The noise of the encampment was still strong on the air. The sense of longing to go back increased. His place had once been there.

Now, no more.

“Did you find them?” Stiger asked, looking over at Eli and Therik. “Did you locate the men my father asked you to find?”

“Yes, we did,” Eli said. “I must say, Therik proved as much a distraction as you thought he would. Everyone had their eyes on him. They were all very fascinated by the orc in legionary armor.”

Therik spat on the ground in abject disgust. “I played the part of a trained monkey. At least the elf thought I acted good enough.”

“Monkey or no, it allowed me the freedom to get the job you wanted done, and in plain sight too,” Eli said. “No one suspected a thing.”

“Good,” Stiger said. “Good job, both of you.”

“Funny how you readily handed Tiro over,” Eli said, “and promised not to spy.”

“Mechlehnus likely feels it is in his best interest to surround himself with someone close to the emperor, while I feel it is good to surround those running my armies with those who are close to me and good at their jobs. It will be beneficial to us both … I hope. And you’ll recall I agreed to not have Tiro be a spy,” Stiger said, looking over at Eli. “I never promised not to spy upon Mechlehnus. He may think this is his army, but it’s really mine. I have a responsibility for it, along with that of the empire. I doubt he will mishandle the army, but if it comes to that, I will intervene.”

“Now,” Therik said with a note of deep satisfaction, “you’re really beginning to think like an emperor, to scheme and plot, to hedge your bets … to trust no one.”

“I am glad you approve.” Stiger began walking again. After a moment, he looked over at Eli, who, like Therik, had fallen in at his side. “They know what to do?”

“Yes. I made it clear,” Eli said. “They will pass on their reports to the couriers, who will deliver them directly to your father when they return to the capital. If anything out of the ordinary occurs with the army, you will know soon enough.”

Stiger clapped his hands, then rubbed them together for warmth. “I am pleased by all that has been accomplished here today. We’re making progress. I can feel it.”

“What about Tiro?” Therik asked as they drew closer to the dragon.

Stiger eyed his old sergeant, who was waiting, still leaning against his pack. Both Lepidus and Tiro appeared to be snoozing. One thing the army taught was to catch up on sleep whenever you could manage. Stiger was feeling a lack of it himself and he doubted he would manage to catch any on the flight back to the capital.

“I expect him to accept the offer to serve Mechlehnus,” Stiger said heavily. “He will become attached and loyal to the general, just as he did to me. Tiro will perform his duty to the best of his ability, which is beyond what any other man should expect. For such is his good nature. He can’t help himself.” Stiger fell silent for a heartbeat. “Whether he realizes it or not, Mechlehnus will be lucky to have him on his staff, very lucky indeed. And I will be the poorer for it.” Stiger paused as they closed the last few yards.

Currose opened her eyes, blinked several times, and raised her head a little off the ground, looking at him draw closer. Both Lepidus and Tiro were facing away from them and still appeared to be dozing. Once the dragon began to really stir, that would not last long.

Stiger took a deep breath and let it out. He felt deeply unhappy about what was to come. But at the same time, he would be rewarding his old sergeant. “Tiro will be a senior tribune before we depart, and should he survive the fighting to come, he will be given lands and holdings as a reward for his service. In short, he will become wealthy and live out his retirement in comfort. I very much like the thought of that, but”—Stiger let go a breath—“he will have no knowledge we are spying upon his new boss.”

“That is how it should be,” Therik said.

Stiger stopped and eyed Crespo and his men a moment. Once out of the camp, his protection detail had fallen in behind, in a short double column five feet to the rear. As Stiger came to a stop, the optio held up a hand and the column ground to a halt.

Stiger turned to Eli. He felt a deep sadness overcome him as he regarded his friend. “And now, I have a request of you as well, my friend. Would you do something for me?”

“This has to do with that wagon of silver that was recovered, the one carrying part of the imperial treasury? You wish me to help track down the rest?”

“How did you know?” Stiger could not conceal his surprise.

“I overheard two headquarters clerks talking about it, what had been discovered,” Eli said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes, it pays to be nosy, to snoop and listen. They both thought themselves alone and were jawing about it.”

“Snooping?” Therik scoffed. “You were spying.”

Eli gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if the distinction did not bother him in the slightest. And Stiger well knew it did not. Eli had few scruples when it came to being nosy.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to go with you?” Eli asked. “I fear danger lies in your future. You could use my bow and daggers.”

“Don’t worry, elf,” Therik said. “While you are gone, I will look after him. He may not be as safe as a newborn calf … but I will do all I can. He does tend to attract trouble, you know.”

“That is why I hang around him.” Eli turned his gaze to Therik. Then something seemed to occur to him, for he scowled, blinked at the orc, then opened and closed his mouth. He was clearly aghast, as if at a loss for words. Then he seemed to find his voice. “Tell me … you are not just now beginning to understand this? For all your wit and sagacity, there are days I think you a dullard, Therik. Life at Ben’s side is never boring—well, mostly never boring.” Eli cocked his head to the side in the way only an elf could. It did not look natural to human eyes. “Some days and weeks there’s a lot of marching, drill, and such … okay, I will admit that it can be very boring, distractingly so at times, but overall the moments of pure pulse-pounding terror, the excitement … well it sort of outweighs the boring bits. Surely you must have realized that before now?”

Therik eyed the elf for a long moment, then spared Stiger a suffering look. “A dullard? This is a word I do not know. Care to tell me what he just called me?”

“And here I would have thought sagacity would have stumped you, my big, green friend,” Eli said. “Allow me to explain, a dullard is—”

“I need that money,” Stiger interrupted Eli, refusing to be diverted by the banter. “Without it, the empire cannot function and we won’t stand a chance. Will you do it? Can you help Mechlehnus’s people find the rest of it for me?”

“For you,” Eli said firmly, “I will.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Stiger clapped Eli on the side of the arm. “Get it done and then hurry back to me.”

“I suppose you will be going to find Menos and Ogg next?” Eli asked, eyeing him closely.

Stiger glanced in the direction of Currose. “Just as soon as she’s ready. It is a long journey and she’s still recovering from her fight with the minion. It takes will for her to fly such long distances. She is using much of what she has for self-healing and needs to accumulate more. I’m not sure exactly when we will be able to leave.”

“I see. Well, then, I better get started.” Eli glanced at the encampment, then looked back at Stiger. “I will see you later, old boy. Now that I know where to start searching for the imperial treasury, I should be able to track it down rapidly. At least I hope so.” Eli cocked his head to the side again, hesitating a moment. “Did I ever tell you how I spent centuries tracking down a single criminal? It is quite the tale and ended in the most unexpected manner.”

“Centuries?” Therik asked, eyes narrowing skeptically. “Centuries? Are you certain you got that right?”

“Yes,” Eli said, “along with my wife, I—”

“You’re married?” Therik interrupted, just as skeptically. “You’ve never mentioned a wife before now.”

“It’s just like his sister,” Stiger said, becoming suddenly amused himself. “I’ve heard all about her too.”

Therik barked out a laugh. “He doesn’t have a sister. That’s a good one, I will give you that, elf.”

“Well, she did not like my wife either,” Eli said. “Such a pity. Anyway, now that I think on it, maybe it was just decades that we hunted, or perhaps it was just a few years we chased after him … ” Eli paused, as if in deep thought. “Honestly, when one has such a long life, it sort of tends to blur together. Memories can become a little confusing. Anyway … where was I?”

“You were saying goodbye,” Therik said. “And then you were going to help find the rest of the imperial treasury for Ben and perhaps not become distracted by a pretty flower, an interesting plant, or some other such nonsense.”

“Oh, right … thank you, Therik. That tale is a rather long one and will have to wait for another day. Well, I better get to it then.” With a jaunty, almost eager step, the elf turned and started back toward the camp.

“Eli, aren’t you forgetting something?” Stiger called, after he had gone a couple of feet.

The elf stopped and turned to look back with a confused expression. “I don’t believe so.”

“What about your bow and pack?” Stiger asked.

“Oh that … well, as soon as I heard about the wagon, I had one of the clerks from headquarters go and fetch my kit for me.” The elf grinned broadly at him. “He wasn’t too eager to get so close to Currose, but in the end, he managed to retrieve my things, especially after I told him it was an order direct from his highness, the emperor. At that, he snapped to. Honestly, I think he needed to change his undergarments when he returned to the camp. To say he was shaken was a bit of an understatement. I do not believe I have ever seen anyone so pale that had not died.” The elf’s grin faded, and he grew serious and peered closely at Stiger, making a show of studying him. “Say … under those tunics, you do wear undergarments, right?”

Therik laughed. “Would it excite you if he didn’t?”

“Keep yourself safe,” Stiger said, feeling a lump form in his throat, for he well knew he would miss Eli’s company and even the lighthearted banter. “I mean that. On the road to Vrell, I thought I had lost you once. That was almost more than I could bear.”

“You out of everyone should know I am the absolute soul of caution,” Eli said and then grew serious, grave even. His tone changed as well and Stiger had known Eli long enough that he could tell he was no longer speaking in jest. “Don’t worry about me, Ben. I will get the treasury for you. Worry instead about what you must do.” Eli looked him hard in the eyes. His gaze for a heartbeat flicked to the sword Stiger wore. “For that is what I worry about.”

Stiger resisted the urge to reach to the sword.

“I will see you when I see you, my friend.” Eli’s tone had lightened again, and with that, he turned away and continued back toward the camp. He nodded congenially at Crespo as he passed the escort.

“I worry about him,” Stiger said.

“I do too,” Therik admitted quietly.

Stiger watched Eli for a long moment, wondering if he would ever see his friend again. He forced that dark thought aside, for there was still business to attend to.

“And now to say goodbye to another good friend,” Stiger breathed, before turning toward Currose, where Lepidus and Tiro, still napping, waited.

“Such is life,” Therik said. “With good fortune you will see both again.”

“And if it’s bad fortune?”

“Best not to think on that. Focus on being emperor first, a friend second. That is the way of things.”

Stiger glanced at the orc and gave an unhappy nod.

“You are emperor,” Therik added.

“I am,” Stiger growled. He had a job to do, and sentimentality, along with friendship, had to play a secondary role. The empire and the High Father’s cause came first. It was time to send Tiro on his way and focus on doing his job.

Chapter Eleven

“Welcome back, sir,” Ruga greeted as Stiger stomped through the snow and into the side entrance of the palace. With an escort of five men, the centurion had been waiting just out of the falling snow and inside the foyer.

Standing at attention, Ruga’s men were drawn up to the sides of the foyer, their backs close against the wall. All eyes were staring forward at an invisible point in space.

Each of the centurion’s men were fully turned out, their equipment and armor maintained and cleaned to perfection. They carried a shield and short sword but not a javelin. They were all, to a man, seasoned veterans and hardened killers forged in the fires of battle, some of the best the legion put out. It was why they were his personal escort and guard.

“Ruga,” Stiger said wearily as he shook his bearskin cloak free of snow. “It is good to see you too, especially that ugly mug of yours. You can’t know how much it warms my heart.”

“You wound me, sir,” Ruga said with a broad grin. He grew serious. “How was your trip to the army? Productive, I trust?”

“Very productive,” Stiger said as he came to a stop and stamped the snow and ice from his boots, which were partially soaked through and becoming damp inside.

A rug had been laid out for drying one’s feet before entering the palace. Wet and icy hobnailed boots could and would prove hazardous on the polished marble hallway floors. It was a simple recipe for a fall. Stiger moved over to the rug and began, one at a time, drying his boots as best he could.

Behind him, Therik stepped into the foyer and began doing the same. Currose hadn’t even waited. Almost as soon as they had dismounted, she had spread her large wings and was getting ready to take to the air.

Hearing her wings begin to beat at the air, Stiger glanced back out the entrance. The noctalum was headed to someplace nearby to rest and continue her recovery. Where she holed up, Stiger had no idea. But she would be near if he needed her and all he had to do was call. Somehow, she’d hear and come.

“Dog ran off,” Therik commented.

“He’ll be back,” Stiger said, without concern, though he did frequently wonder where the animal disappeared to. “He’s probably gone to find someone to beg food from. Like the legions, he always comes back. He’s a good boy.”

“A good killer, is more like it,” Therik grumbled.

The wind generated from Currose’s repeated wing beats gusted into the foyer, driving a spray of snow and ruffling the red-dyed cloaks of his escort. Outside, the sky had already begun to lighten and soon the sun would be fully above the horizon. Ruga stepped past Stiger. The centurion swung the oak door closed, throwing the heavy bolt shut with a solid thunk.

“Bloody cold morning it is,” the centurion grumbled. “Too bloody cold for my old bones.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Therik rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth, clearly trying to get the feeling back into his fingers. “You should try flying in it, where the wind is in your face the entire time. All I’m interested in now is finding a fire and some warm food, along with something to drink.”

“Food,” Stiger said, looking over and resisting a grin, “that seems all you ever think about, how to fill your belly.”

“What are you, the elf now?” Therik grumbled. “He’s not here, so you thought you would take his place? Is that it?”

“Eli won’t be joining us?” Ruga asked.

“We picked up a bread crumb on the treasury, where it went,” Stiger said. “Eli’s gone to help track it down.”

“Well,” Ruga said, “that sounds like some good news.”

“I think so too,” Stiger said. “A wagon was even recovered with part of the treasury. It should be arriving in the capital in the coming days.”

“He also got himself another army,” Therik added dryly. “Like there was ever a doubt about that happening.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” Ruga said. When Stiger looked up at him curiously, he hastily added, “For the record, sir, like Therik, I never doubted you none, either. Not for a moment. Old Uncle Ruga would never bet against you, sir. And I’m not even the wagering type.”

“Uh huh.” Stiger made his disbelief plain in his tone. “How are things here?”

“Nothing to report of note, at least on the threat side,” the centurion said. “Things have been kinda boring, sir … action-wise. You will be pleased to learn there have been no more assassination attempts, if that’s what you’re hinting at. Like a money lender’s vault, the palace is locked down tight. I’m happy to add your wife and father are doing just fine, sir.”

Stiger was relieved to hear that. He was dog-tired and stifled a yawn with a fist. As he’d expected, he had gotten little sleep on the flight back to the capital. It had been bitterly cold, and the snow had not helped either. “Boring is better than exciting, Ruga. You should have figured that out by now.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruga said. “Trust me, I can appreciate boring as much as the next man.”

“Not if you’re an elf,” Therik commented. “He thrives on excitement and, if it’s lacking, does what’s needed to create it, even if that’s to the detriment of everyone else.”

“There is truth in what you say,” Stiger said with a light chuckle. He turned his attention back to the centurion. “I want to find my bed. I think I will take a nap before the day’s business begins.” He stifled another yawn. “At a minimum, I need a couple of hours of sack time.”

“Yes, sir. Your wife has yet to rise for the day.” The centurion paused as Stiger stepped past, intent on moving into the palace and finding someplace warmer, particularly with a roaring fire. “Ah … before you go, sir … ah … the business of the day has already begun.”

Stiger stopped and turned back to the centurion, who was clearly trying to tell him something.

“What do you mean, it has already begun?” Stiger gestured toward the closed door. “The sun’s just coming up now. We should have at least a couple of hours before the petitioners begin lining up.”

“Your father started early,” Ruga said. “He’s meeting with someone who recently arrived in the city, sir. I was called away, just as it began, when word reached me that you had returned. I wanted to greet you personally and see if you might want to drop in.”

“Who is he with?” Stiger asked curiously, wondering what was so important that his father felt the need to begin the day at such an early hour. Surely whatever it was must be bad news. Had word come from his army marching up from the south? Had they encountered problems? He eyed Ruga closely. The centurion obviously thought it important enough to inform him. And when Ruga thought something important, Stiger had learned to listen.

“I dunno, sir,” Ruga said. “Lekentius handled it. Apparently, the man arrived at the gate a few hours ago with urgent news for the emperor. Since you weren’t here, Lekentius rousted your father from bed, who agreed to see him.”

Stiger felt himself scowl at that.

“Nothing good ever arrives in the middle of the night or early in the morning,” Therik said to Stiger.

“Yeah.” Giving the orc a nod of agreement, he made a snap decision and turned back to Ruga. “Sleep can wait. Where are they?”

“In the throne room, sir,” Ruga replied. “Oh, and I, ah … didn’t like the look of the man.”

Stiger’s concern rose to new levels, for Ruga was generally a good judge of character. He spared Therik a worried look. The orc bared his sharpened tusks and issued a low growl.

“Right. Let’s go.” Stiger turned away and, with Therik, Ruga, and the escort following, made his way into the palace.

Just past the foyer, a team of four legionaries was posted, standing guard duty upon the side entrance they had just used. As one, they snapped crisply to attention and saluted. Stiger held up his hand in response and then was past them.

For the most part, Stiger found the palace darkened and quiet, still, with only a handful of oil lamps lit to mark the way. Their footsteps echoed hollowly off the walls as they moved briskly down the long corridor heading resolutely in the direction of the throne room.

Stiger noted that sentries had been posted at and along strategic points throughout the palace. These too came to attention as he passed them by. A patrol emerging from down a side corridor stepped aside for them as well. Stiger gave a nod to the optio in command, who saluted, and then he was past them.

After the recent assassination attempt, it was clear that security was being taken very seriously. The palace was an armed camp. In truth, Stiger had expected no less from the officers he commanded and mostly counted as friends. They were all good, experienced men, and he was pleased with all that he saw.

Rounding a bend in the corridor, he found Ikuus and Hollux coming the other way. The officers had been in casual conversation. With Captain Ikuus saluting for both, they stopped and came to positions of attention. Stiger came to a stop as well.

“How goes it, gentlemen?” Stiger asked.

Ikuus now commanded Stiger’s old company, the Seventh, and Hollux was the man’s executive officer. At one time, he had been Stiger’s second, and a good one at that. Like Lepidus, Hollux was a close friend, one of Stiger’s very first within the legions.

“It goes well, sir,” Ikuus said. “We’re officers of the day for the palace and are doing the rounds, making sure both companies are deployed properly and in position, with the men alert.”

“Both companies?” Stiger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ikuus responded. “Spatz’s company and mine have responsibility for the palace today. Lepidus’s company has the gate, palace wall, and grounds. With the Tenth’s commander detached on temporary assignment, Spatz is overseeing them till he returns, sir.”

Stiger gave a nod of understanding. “Well, Lepidus came back with us. He headed off for the barracks. I’m certain after he gets some rest, he will return to the duty rotation and give you both the occasional break.”

“Yes, sir,” Ikuus said.

“And what of Tiro, sir?” Hollux asked. “I don’t see him.”

“He’s stayed on with General Mechlehnus,” Stiger said. “The general thought he could be useful on his staff, and I agreed. He’s now Tribune Tiro.”

“Very good, sir,” Hollux said, sounding pleased. “I can’t think of someone who is more deserving for a promotion like that. Tiro’s a good man, sir.”

“Yes, I agree. He is one of the best,” Stiger said, knowing that he himself owed a debt that could never be fully repaid to the old veteran. Without Tiro, Stiger most assuredly would not have developed into the officer and leader of men he had become. “Now, gentlemen, it’s been a long, cold flight home and I have business to attend before I can grab some shut-eye myself. I won’t keep you from your duties. Carry on.”

Ikuus once more saluted for both officers, then stepped aside for Stiger to pass. Continuing onward, Stiger made straight for the throne room. Beyond the guards at every corner and cross corridor, the palace was thoroughly empty. They didn’t pass a single servant.

Stiger found the double doors to the throne room closed, with a reinforced guard detail standing before it. Lekentius was there as well, studying a tablet in hand. He looked up, recognized Stiger, and bowed respectfully as the entire guard snapped to attention.

“Who is my father meeting with?” Stiger asked the man.

“Harananos, Imperator,” Lekentius responded. “He arrived this morning and demanded an immediate audience. Since you were not present, your father agreed to meet with him.”

“Who is this Harananos?” Stiger asked. “I don’t know him. And who is he to demand and receive such a meeting at this hour?”

“He was the late emperor’s advisor, a freedman, Imperator, someone of note.”

Alarm bells sounded in Stiger’s head, and he glanced sharply toward the closed doors to the throne room.

“Lears’s man?” Stiger asked.

“I am sorry, Imperator, my mistake. I should have been clear. He was Tioclesion’s advisor,” Lekentius said. “He is a man that was feared by many. It was said, and I believe it, he did the emperor’s dirty work. During Emperor Tioclesion’s reign, many feared crossing him.”

Stiger did not like the sound of that or that his father was meeting with such a person alone. As if he could read Stiger’s thoughts, at his side, Therik growled menacingly, which caused Lekentius to take an involuntary half-step back. Stiger looked to the guards.

“Open it,” he ordered, “now.”

One of the guards turned and pulled on one of the heavy doors. It opened, almost reluctantly, and with a deep groan of protest. Stiger stepped inside to find his father and another man, obviously Harananos, conversing in low tones. Beyond that, the throne room was empty. Both men stopped and turned to face him.

“Ah, my son,” Marcus said, sounding tired, as if he had been woken too early, “it is good you return in such a timely manner. We had just started.”

Stiger strode up to them. Harananos was middle-aged, balding, with short-cropped hair. The man was somewhat portly, though almost strangely, he appeared hardened, like a veteran who had seen a lifetime of action. He was dressed in coarse, rough-spun brown robes and a gray cloak that was clasped around the neck. The ends of his robe were spattered with dried mud and dirt. He was dirty, his hair was greasy, and there was a week’s worth of facial hair growth. He also smelled.

“I take it you are Harananos?” Stiger asked.

The man nodded, his eyes flicking to Therik and lingering there a moment before moving to Ruga, who had entered behind him with the escort of five men. Stiger felt that Harananos was sizing them up, studying them critically and attempting to glean something he could use.

“I am Harananos, Imperator. I have come to serve you.” The man turned back to Stiger, who found Harananos’s gaze hard and filled with steel. This was indeed a dangerous man.

“I see,” Stiger said.

“Ruga,” Marcus said. “Take your men and wait outside. There is nothing to fear here.”

The centurion looked to Stiger. For a moment, Stiger considered countermanding the order, then realized his father likely had his reasons.

“Do as he says,” Stiger said to Ruga. “Wait outside.”

Ruga eyed Harananos a moment. It was clear he was unhappy leaving Stiger alone with such a person. Then Ruga turned and made for the door. “Come on, boys. We’ll wait outside until the imperator requires us.”

“And, Ruga,” Marcus added as the centurion reached the door. “See that we are not disturbed, will you?”

“Aye, sir. No one will interrupt you.” Ruga shut the doors behind him after his men had passed through.

“You served Tioclesion?” Stiger asked. “Am I correct in my understanding?”

“I did, Imperator.”

“In what capacity?” Stiger asked. “I was told you were an advisor, a person who was feared.”

“His spymaster,” Marcus said.

That got Stiger’s attention.

“He is known for a bit more than that,” Marcus added, to which Harananos inclined his head ever so slightly. “Harananos is a man of unique, shall we say, abilities and talents. He has a network of spies and toughs. He’s also been a quiet family friend and ally for years. He has occasionally looked out for our interests.”

Though his father had just vouched for him, and strongly too, Stiger had the feeling that Harananos was no one’s friend. And Stiger had learned to listen to his gut feelings.

“Speaking of which,” Harananos said, “I have just recommended you change out your cooking staff here in the palace. Upon return to the city, I reconnected with my network of resident agents. You see, I did not wish to approach the palace if it would prove unsafe or really … unhealthy for me personally and, well, the wrong person was in charge, like Lears.”

“So, you checked in with your spies and got the lay of the land?” Stiger asked.

“Correct.”

“What did you discover about the kitchen staff?” Stiger asked.

“I learned there are certain individuals, such as Senator Lesto, who wish to see you replaced. The disagreeable old boy has taken steps to have you, shall we say, removed from office in the quickest and most expedient manner possible.”

“I am aware of Lesto and his intentions,” Stiger said.

“My people believe one of Lesto’s clients … a servant, I’m not sure who yet, works in the kitchen. Hence a changing out of the cooks and their staff might prove conducive to living a longer life, if you catch my meaning.”

Stiger eyed the man for a long moment before sharing a look with his father. At Stiger’s side, Therik shifted uncomfortably. Stiger looked over at the orc and felt a bubble of dark amusement. “Still hungry?”

The orc shook his head. “No.”

“Food may be a bit bland for a few days,” Marcus said. “Nothing worse than army cooking, since that’s who we will use to prepare our meals, but when we are finished here, I will get it done immediately. The entire kitchen staff will be dismissed from service and that will be the end of that.”

Stiger turned his attention back to the spymaster, who had clasped both hands together before him and suddenly appeared unassuming, soft, and completely unthreatening. Even the hardness to the man’s gaze seemed to soften.

“And now you wish to serve me?” Stiger asked.

“That is why I am here, Imperator.”

“He is not a very good spymaster,” Therik growled to Stiger. “I do not think you should take him on.”

Eyes narrowing, Harananos looked to the orc. “I’m an exceptional spymaster.”

“You did nothing to save your previous master. Why should I allow you to serve Stiger? I would hear what you have to say on the matter.”

“You allow?” Harananos looked in shock to Stiger, who did not reply. The spymaster’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted his gaze back to Therik. “How direct … I take it you are Therik? I have heard a little about you.”

“And what did you hear?” Therik asked.

“That unlike most orcs, you are no mere beast, but have a brain and can use it,” Harananos said plainly. “In short, you are different than the rest of the animals. I might ultimately have to reassess my thinking on your species.”

Therik’s eyes bulged, and the former king took a menacing half-step forward. His large hands flexed as if he wanted to wring the spymaster’s pudgy throat. For his part, Harananos did not move but instead seemed to become amused.

“Therik does have a point,” Stiger said, drawing their attention before things could escalate further. Stiger had the feeling Harananos was testing Therik, provoking him even. With every passing moment, he was becoming more convinced Harananos was a very dangerous person. “I would hear how you missed a man such as Handi. And what about the traitorous Praetorian Guard that turned and betrayed Tioclesion? They led him to his death in battle.”

“Yes, well.” Harananos unclasped his hands. “That is a different matter altogether.” He paused for a long moment and looked like he was going to say more but instead kept his mouth closed. The silence stretched almost awkwardly.

“I appreciate answers that are not only direct, but blunt and unfiltered.” Stiger gestured at Therik with a thumb. “It is one of the reasons I keep him around. Therik tells me how it is, and plainly too.”

“I do,” Therik said.

“If you want admittance to my service,” Stiger continued, “then you will do the same, even if you believe I will not want to hear what you have to say. I never punish those who speak their mind openly and honestly.”

Harananos’s gaze speculatively flicked back to Therik before returning to Stiger.

“Then, Imperator, I shall endeavor to be direct and blunt, and forthcoming as well. The simple answer to Therik’s question … like a good boy, I follow my orders.”

“From the emperor?” Stiger asked. “Or is it someone else who gives you your marching orders? I would know now.”

“The emperor, of course,” Harananos said. “I have no other master. Before I was sent away, I had my suspicions about Handi, but I was instructed to leave him be and not interfere in any way. That was made undeniably clear.”

“Why?” Stiger asked. “I do not understand that. Handi was an enemy agent.”

“I am not fully certain why I was instructed to lay off the man. What I do know is that at some point the late Tioclesion was shown a vision. It affected his thinking greatly. I do not know for certain, but I believe Handi was in it.”

Stiger shared a look with his father.

“I left men to keep an eye upon Handi, but apparently, he became aware of my actions and had them removed. He also turned the Praetorian Guard—well, really its fool commander. Had I been present, what happened to Tioclesion would not have occurred. Handi and Nouma would have both had, how shall we say it, unfortunate accidents—like being run over by an out-of-control manure cart, something ironic—tragically cutting their lives short. But then again, Tioclesion did not always listen and heed my advice. Instead, I was sent far away to fetch something.”

“I thought you followed your orders,” Therik said.

“I do.” Harananos met the orc’s gaze with firmness. “Sometimes the good of the empire comes first and I must bend said orders. I am of the opinion that most rules are meant to be bent slightly.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw, feeling the fresh stubble as he considered the man before him. Could he trust him? Dare he? Harananos made him feel uncomfortable and uneasy. Stiger saw little honor in spying and such things that men in his position routinely saw fit to do. Then again … Stiger had a job himself to do and sometimes, like with Venthus … other means needed to be employed to achieve objectives. Harananos potentially represented those other means. Stiger was emperor now. Could he afford to turn this man away?

“The vision you speak of … ” Stiger hesitated a moment as he studied Harananos, trying to divine anything more from the man. “On his deathbed, Tioclesion told me a wizard had shown him a vision of the future.”

“Yes,” Harananos said. “That is my understanding as well.”

“Do you know who this wizard is?” Stiger asked. “And where he can be found? I would very much like to speak with him.”

“Unfortunately, I do not,” Harananos said and held his hands outward. “And I do not think it the court wizard, either. That man is more a court jester than anything else. He spends his time drinking not only his meager pay, but his days away as well.”

“Court wizard.” Stiger turned to his father. “There’s a court wizard? I did not know this.”

“Tioclesion’s father appointed the man, Demenicus, I believe his name is,” Marcus said. “He’s not been to court since before Tioclesion ascended the throne. The man must be in his eighties now, and honestly, I am surprised he still lives, especially with his drinking habit. Like Harananos said, he is no wizard and certainly can’t do real magic.”

“Then why is he court wizard?” Therik asked. “That does not make any sense.”

“He was appointed more as a jest than anything else,” Marcus said, “for he was found trying to pass sleight-of-hand off as magic. The emperor encountered him down in the city and, for some strange reason, took a shine to him.”

“All right, so not the court magician, then,” Stiger said, feeling keen disappointment. He wanted to find this wizard, the real wizard, for he had a lot of questions.

“I wish it were that easy,” Harananos said.

“So.” Stiger ran his gaze over the spymaster’s soiled clothing for a long moment. “Harananos, where were you sent and why? What mission were you dispatched on? What were you sent to retrieve?”

“To the west,” Harananos said with some irritation in his tone leaking through. “I was intentionally sent away on an errand while the emperor marched to face the enemy in battle. By rights, I should have been at his side.”

“Where in the west?” Stiger pressed. “And … you’ve still not told me why, yet.”

“To a remote temple,” Harananos said, “on the edge of civilization … well, far beyond it and deep into the Barrens in the mountains. I was dispatched with an entire cohort of auxiliary cavalry. As you can imagine, a journey through lands as hostile as the Barrens, for an imperial, was a dangerous venture, even with such a large, armed escort. Only two of us managed to return, and just barely. But that is a story for another time.” The spymaster paused and let out a heavy breath. “I also discovered on my journeys that the tribes in Cyren are massing for war, those in the Barrens too. Word is the tribes in Sertal Zeth are also coming together and both will soon march against the empire as allies, united in purpose. Unsurprisingly, they stand with our enemies.”

Stiger shared another glance with his father. “It seems the entire world is against us.”

Marcus said nothing.

“They don’t know it yet, but the Thirty-Third, the Felix Legion, is in trouble, too,” Harananos said. “That is, if they remain in their current position. The tribes will be all over them in a matter of days.”

“The Thirty-Third?” Stiger looked to Marcus. “I thought all the legions from the frontier were pulled in and either went south or are now with Mechlehnus?”

“Apparently, not,” Marcus said. “I guess some force was left in place to keep the tribes honest.”

“You don’t know about them?” Harananos asked, confused, looking between them. “How could you not? You are emperor now, commander in chief of the imperial armies.”

“Perhaps you are not as well-informed as you think?” Therik said, drawing a scowl from the spymaster.

“Handi and our enemy were thorough in destroying records, killing the clerks and all of the High Command,” Marcus explained. “We simply don’t know what military assets are left around the empire.”

“Really?” Harananos seemed surprised by that news.

“Yes,” Stiger said. “We are having to rebuild the bureaucracy. The treasury was also taken by the High Priest.”

“I knew about that, the treasury,” Harananos said. “My spies told me.”

“And yet they didn’t tell you about Handi’s work?” Therik asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

Harananos eyed the orc king for a long moment, then gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I have yet to connect with all of my agents. I will rectify that as soon as we are done here.”

“We’ve already recovered part of the treasury,” Stiger said to his father. “With any luck, we will have the rest soon enough. Eli’s on it.”

“That’s good news, son,” Marcus said, “a definite step in the right direction.”

“Well.” Harananos clasped his hands together once more. “I might be able to help a little, ease some of your concerns.”

“How?” Stiger asked.

“As part of my duties for Tioclesion, I thought it wise to pay close attention to the nobility … who was loyal, questionable at best, or outright enemies, especially those serving in our military. As a result, I have extensive notes, not only on the commanders themselves, but also where the units are stationed, along with strength totals and whatnot. It should be easy enough to find out what forces are still deployed and where, not counting Mechlehnus’s army, of course.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he gazed upon the spymaster. A sense of excitement was building within him.

“You have spies in the army?” Therik asked.

“Informers, really,” Harananos said. “They’re not true spies, but how else will I get the information I need? They keep their ears open and write me regular reports. I am sure I have dozens of such reports just waiting to be read.”

“That sounds promising,” Marcus said. “We will definitely take you up on that.”

Stiger agreed with a nod. He turned to his father. “We will need to recall the Thirty-Third, before the tribes can box them in. We have no help to send, and before long we’re going to need every sword, especially now that the tribes from the west are rising up. Will you see to it?”

“I fear word will not arrive in time for them,” Harananos said, with a regretful note, “and I had no one to send to warn them.”

“Even by the courier network?” Stiger asked, feeling a sense of dismay. “You’re saying there’s nothing we can do?”

Harananos shook his head. “Sadly, no. Their garrison has strong walls, and if they’re not caught wholly unawares, they will be able to hold out for some time. That said, the tribes greatly outnumber them. If you cannot send help, then I fear the legion and her auxiliary cohorts are doomed.”

“Even if I had the troops to spare,” Stiger said, “which I don’t, it would take more than a month to march to the border in the west. And that would be a hard march too. What with the Castol moving down from the north and the confederacy around Asti poised to move, I can’t afford to do that. My hands are tied.”

“When it rains it pours,” Marcus said unhappily.

Feeling a wave of terrible frustration, Stiger expelled an unhappy breath. An entire legion, a veteran formation, along with her auxiliary cohorts, would soon be cut off and ultimately annihilated, wiped out to a man. And he needed those experienced and trained men badly. Letting go a breath, he turned his attention back to the spymaster.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did. The temple I was told to find was hidden quite well. It was difficult to locate. Though, honestly, it was an odd place to go to retrieve an item, a dark temple to Lutha and Nyx.”

“You mean Lutha Nyx,” Marcus said.

“No,” Stiger replied to his father quietly. Though he was still uncomfortable with that deity, he had already made his peace with both Lutha and Nyx, at least he thought he had. “He had it right. Continue, Harananos. I would hear more. And what was that? What were they holding … and more importantly, what did they give you?”

“The temple was mostly honoring Nyx. I was instructed to retrieve an item of great importance from the priests there. Oddly, they were expecting me.”

“Nyx is bad business,” Therik growled. “Even Castor’s priests were wary of angering her, bringing down her wrath. They steered clear of not only her priests, but also her followers.”

Harananos’s gaze flicked to Therik briefly. The spymaster scowled, then recovered himself and returned his attention to Stiger.

“Yes, well, I was instructed to give this only to you and you alone, Imperator.” Harananos reached within his robes and pulled out what looked like a legate’s or general’s baton, only it was larger, much larger, cast in silver and ornately etched with strange patterns.

Most of the legate batons were carved out of wood to look like the original that Karus had wielded. Stiger stilled. He had seen that very same baton before. After a moment, he sucked in a shocked breath as realization dawned.

“You recognize it?” Harananos asked. “Of course you do. You were Tioclesion’s playmate. You would have seen the replica around the palace.”

“Replica?” Marcus asked. “That’s the emperor’s direct symbol of imperium, the Karus Baton. You’re telling me the one Tioclesion had was a fake?”

“I am,” Harananos said plainly, “and that one was stolen months ago. We don’t know by whom, either. I literally tore the city apart hunting for it.” He glanced down at the baton in his hand and fell silent for several heartbeats. “To be honest, at the time, I didn’t know what I searched for was a fake. Nor did I know what I was sent out to the Barrens to retrieve. I don’t even know why it was so important for me to personally go and fetch this thing, and it is my business to know things.” Stiger could hear the frustration in the spymaster’s voice. “My absence cost Tioclesion his life, and for what?” Harananos waved the baton before them. “This is only a symbol of power for the emperor, one of many.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he regarded the baton. It was exquisitely detailed, the workmanship second to none. He shook his head in utter dismay at what was before him.

“Interestingly,” Harananos continued, “the man who gave this baton to me was not a priest. I never got his name, but the priests of that dark temple treated him as if he were a god in human form. They quaked in his presence. I must admit, he even unsettled me. He said he had been holding it in trust since the time of Karus. Can you imagine that? A man living as long as an elf, perhaps even longer? From the time of Karus? Really?”

“Oddly enough, Harananos,” Stiger said, in a near whisper, “I can.”

Harananos seemed to shake himself as he looked from the baton back to Stiger. “Regardless, Imperator, my instructions were to give it to you, personally. He even named you, Bennulius Stiger. He said to also tell you that, should you ever desire to visit, the representative of the High Father is welcome.”

“He did?” Stiger asked.

“Though I don’t know why you would want to go, he did invite you, Imperator.” The spymaster held the baton out to Stiger. “A lot of good men died to bring you this … I hope … it was worth it.”

Hardly daring to believe what he was looking at was genuine, Stiger hesitated a moment before reaching out. He took it. As his hand closed around the baton, Stiger sensed power, will, within.

As with the dread sword he bore, there was a rapid tingle of energy that ran up his arm and then back into the baton, returning from whence it came. It was as if his connection with the High Father had been recognized and tested. It had flared in reply to the baton’s power. Almost instantly, Stiger’s weariness and exhaustion fell away. Holding the Karus Baton, Stiger felt a moment of pure triumph.

Power … the sword hissed in his mind. As expected, the power of worlds untold is not only in your hands, but within reach. Guard it well, Champion, for others will seek to take it from you. Hide it … for everything now rides upon not only it, but you as well …

Stiger felt the sense of triumph dampened a little at the mad wizard’s words. Then he recalled that the fake baton had been stolen. Handi had likely seen to that. Veers must have it by now. With luck, his enemy would not know until it was too late that they had acquired a fake. He found that thought amusing.

“Thank you, Harananos,” Stiger said, looking up. It was a struggle not to smile, one he lost. “This day you have delivered something I badly need. I accept you into my service.”

“I am pleased to serve, Imperator. I will not let you down.” Harananos bowed his head for a moment, then gestured at the baton with a hand. “Might I ask, what is it? What is it really?”

“This,” Stiger said, turning the silver baton over in his hands, marveling at it. “This is a key.”

“A key?” Harananos looked at the baton dubiously. “What kind of key?”

“The most important key on this world,” Stiger added, “something our enemies badly want to get their hands on. And now, I possess it.”

“What does it unlock?” Harananos’s eyes locked onto the baton and in them Stiger saw the spark of fascination and terrible curiosity.

“The path to another world,” Stiger breathed, feeling his sense of triumph returning. “The path to another world.”

Chapter Twelve

Stiger felt a strange yet familiar tingling sensation, as if he were passing through some sort of an energy barrier. It pushed against him slightly, seeming to resist his efforts, then the sensation gave way and he was through, stumbling forward. Blinking under the bright daylight, he slowed to a stop after just a handful of steps.

As before, it seemed like a spring day had dawned and the garden around him was in full bloom, utterly bursting with life. Birds flitted about and butterflies fluttered peacefully through the sunlight. Even the air was fresh, clean, and more than welcome. There was none of the city’s stench of rotting trash mixed with excrement and ever-present smoke.

The garden was well manicured and clearly tended with loving care. Just beyond the low-lying shrubs, which ran along the inside of the iron fence, was seemingly impenetrable forest.

The other temples in the district were no longer in view. It was as if he had traveled to another world, and in a way, Stiger supposed he had done just that, for Karus’s temple was a different place in its own right.

Though he had just arrived in the capital that morning and was overly tired, having only gotten a few hours’ sleep, Stiger felt a moment of peace and a sense of rejuvenation wash over him. The aches and pains from his long journey by dragonback seemed to fade as well.

He turned as Taha’Leeth stepped through the gate behind him. His wife blinked in surprise as she gazed around in wonder, clearly stunned by what confronted her. Stiger found himself enjoying her astonishment and could not resist smiling, just a little.

Elves loved nature and had a connection to it unlike any other race he knew. She looked up as a bird flew low, swooping right over them both. The tiny animal was brilliantly colored in green and yellow.

“Didn’t I tell you it was worth coming with me to the Temple District tonight?” Stiger had not told her exactly where they were headed. He had wanted it to be a surprise and, judging by her manner, it had been. That said, it had taken some convincing to get her to come out in the cold.

“And you were right, husband,” Taha’Leeth breathed. She moved past him and up to an oak tree. Reaching out, she laid her palm against the trunk, closing her eyes.

Stiger had seen other elves do similar things. After several moments, she opened them and looked right at Stiger.

“This is no illusion,” Taha’Leeth marveled. “This place is real and the forest’s voice is strong, powerful even, more so than I have felt in a very long while. I … I had not thought such a thing still possible … and yet … here we are … ” She moved over to him and, looking into his eyes, placed a hand to his cheek. “Thank you for this wondrous gift.”

With that she leaned forward and kissed him lightly upon the lips. Stiger felt an animalistic stirring within. He pulled her close and kissed her passionately in return, enjoying the taste of her lips. After several heartbeats, they pulled back and apart. Her eyes searched his face. Then she ran her gaze around the garden once more and gave a veritable sigh.

“This is incredible,” Taha’Leeth breathed. “I just do not understand how it is possible.”

“I do not understand it either,” Stiger admitted. “I still think we are in the Temple District though … ” Stiger hesitated and glanced around. “But I concede we may not be.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Taha’Leeth’s gaze shifted to the manicured grass path and followed it through the middle of the garden and up to the temple itself, which was rather plain-looking and stood in stark contrast to the breathtaking beauty that surrounded it. The path wound its way around an elaborate fountain just before the temple.

In the center of the fountain stood a life-sized statue of Karus, complete with a sheathed short sword and armor identical to what Stiger wore currently. Hands on his hips, Karus was gazing outward, as if surveying something with great satisfaction.

Just next to the statue, Stiger saw Dog, lying upon his side, clearly soaking up the sunlight. The animal glanced up, looked right at them, then laid his head back down and promptly closed his eyes, clearly intent on going back to sleep.

“So, that’s where he went,” Stiger said and gestured to the animal.

“He is no fool,” Taha’Leeth said. “Why stay in a drafty and cold palace when you can come here to such peace and beauty, not to mention the warmth? That alone, I am certain, is worth it.”

“I guess there is that. Though on most days he may be a shameless beggar, he is clearly, as you say, no fool.”

Taha’Leeth glanced up at the sun. “Different than our world’s sun, is it not?”

“Yes,” Stiger said. “It is more yellow, larger, and brighter too. Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“There are places upon certain worlds that are windows, or projections, to another world, time, or place,” Taha’Leeth said. “Frequently, they are surrounded by beautiful gardens, forests, or just wild and untamed nature. My people call them, in the old tongue, Selasims. The closest translation in the common tongue is Reflection Grove. And before you ask, they are not quite portals to a different world … but … something else. I have never heard of anyone who has figured out their mysteries either … it is all speculation.”

Stiger looked over at her with interest. “You have seen such a place before, a Selasim?”

“No,” Taha’Leeth said. “Though I wish I had, I have only heard tell of them, until now.”

“You think this is a Selasim, then?” Stiger ran his gaze about the gardens.

“It is quite possible,” Taha’Leeth conceded, looking at the trees beyond the fence. “I sense great power residing in this place. I could not tell from the outside, but once we entered, I felt it all around us. Reflection Groves are very rare and difficult to locate, not to mention gain access to. They are known to only admit people with certain qualities, traits, or beliefs.”

“Is it a bit like a Gray Field, then?” Stiger asked curiously.

“No,” Taha’Leeth said. “Gray Fields are pathways in and out of the great beyond. This … this is something different.” Her gaze shifted to the temple and her right eyebrow lifted in question. “Very different, for I have not heard of one with a structure.”

“That is the temple to Karus,” Stiger explained.

“Where you met his shade and were given the armor you now wear?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“So, this may be what you think it is, then?”

“Maybe,” Taha’Leeth said. “I do not know for sure and know of no way to check.”

Stiger absorbed that. Glancing around once more, he said, “If this is a projection, a window to another world as you call it, what if I go and, say, hop the fence and walk off through the trees?” Stiger pointed at the forest. “What would happen to me?”

“I do not know,” Taha’Leeth admitted.

“You die,” a tiny voice said. “That happen.”

Stiger jumped. Unheard, Sehet had come up to him and was standing by his side, so close the little gnome was almost invading his personal space.

“Where did you come from?” Stiger asked the gnome priest.

“The Great Sanctuary,” Sehet said. “I holding mass … when told you come. So, I come.”

“There is a Sanctuary here?” Stiger asked curiously.

“Yes,” Sehet said.

“Where?” Stiger wished to know more.

“Down, under,” Sehet said, stamping one of his feet upon the grass. The meaning was clear. It was under their feet, somewhere in the deep dark, as the gnomes called it. “Is to High Father.”

“Can we see it?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“No,” came the reply. “Is gnome place. No human place. No High Born place. Gave us by great god, as reward for faith, devotion. Is gnome only place. Only gnomes go.”

“I see,” Stiger said. “We understand and will respect that.”

“Why … why you come? Why return?” The gnome gestured at him. “Karus give you armor. What want now?”

“I have a favor to ask.” Stiger pulled the Karus Baton from the sack he was carrying.

Sehet eyed the baton carefully, tilting his head slightly. All gnomes fidgeted, as if they had too much energy within to contain. Sehet was no different as he moved from placing his weight from one foot to the other. “World Gate Key, yes?”

“Yes,” Stiger said, somehow not surprised Sehet recognized the device. “It needs to be kept safe. I thought here would be a good place for it, in the care of your people. I can think of no one better to hold the Key in safe keeping.”

“By ask … you make great honor us,” Sehet said, rubbing his hands together, eagerly. “Big honor.”

“I have come to learn and appreciate the courage and tenacity of gnomes. Will you take on this honor, then? Can you guard the Key for me until I come to retrieve it, until I need it? Our enemy wants the World Gate Key and will stop at nothing to possess it.”

Sehet stared at Stiger for several heartbeats, then barked out something in his own language that sounded like an order. About them, out of thin air materialized thirty gnomes.

They were positioned around the edges of the garden. Like Wast’s boys, they wore legionary armor, complete with shield and their small version of a short sword, which was little longer than a legionary’s standard-issue dagger. They also wore white cloaks. Emblazoned upon their shields was the High Father’s lightning bolt.

“As you see,” Sehet said, “guard here … all time … watch all. More down deep. We hide Key away, in secret place … hard find. We guard it … for you.”

Stiger and Taha’Leeth looked at the gnome warriors. The little creatures, mini-legionaries all, were watching them impassively with their black, pupil-less eyes.

Like all other gnomes Stiger had known, it was impossible to read them on the best of days. He felt a chill run down his back. There was no doubt in his mind, these gnomes were killers and would end anyone’s personal story who ventured into the gardens without permission.

“We kill any who try take Key, make whole city wake up with big boom,” Sehet said with an eager note. It was as if he actually hoped someone would come and try to take the relic from them. “Good, yes?”

“Let’s not destroy the whole city, okay? I wouldn’t like that. I’m sure your physical protection will be very satisfactory, and nothing less than I would have expected.” Stiger handed the baton over to Sehet, who took it. He passed Sehet the sack too.

The gnome priest placed the Key into the sack, then turned and said something in his own language to the two nearest legionaries. They both came forward, with one taking the sack. Sehet said something else. Without another sound, the two gnomes and the other legionaries around the garden vanished back into thin air.

Stiger had a sudden pang that he’d made a terrible mistake. Would the baton be safe here? He forced such thoughts aside. Sehet and his gnomes had already proven themselves and he could sense the High Father’s power actively at work within the priest.

“Karus trust, now Stiger trust,” Sehet said. “We be true. You see.”

“I have no doubts,” Stiger said, though he did harbor some. Really, he saw no other option to keep the Key safe and hidden away. What better place to secure such a relic than in a magically concealed temple few knew of, let alone even suspected existed?

Stiger understood if his enemy discovered the Key they had stolen was a fake, they would come after the real one with everything that they had. By entrusting it to the gnomes, Stiger hoped he was in essence doing something his enemy, Veers, would never expect, for no one in their right mind trusted the little bastards, no one but Karus and now Stiger.

“How do they do that?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“Do what?” Sehet asked.

“Disappear like that?” Taha’Leeth gestured about them.

“Gift from High Father,” Sehet explained.

“Can they disappear out in the city?” Taha’Leeth asked. “Or in the field during battle? It would be a useful trick.”

Stiger thought so too and wondered if that’s how the gnomes got around without anyone seeing them. It would certainly explain a lot.

“No,” Sehet answered. “Only in High Father’s place. Special power here.”

“And where is this place?” Stiger asked. “Are we still on Istros?”

“Here and there,” Sehet said with a tiny shrug of his shoulders.

Stiger felt that the gnome was being intentionally evasive. Had he wished, Stiger was certain Sehet could have been clearer with his answer. But in the end, it didn’t matter. All he needed them to do was guard the Key, to keep it safe until he required it.

“May I occasionally return?” Taha’Leeth asked the gnome, an earnest note to her voice. “May I come back and enjoy the peace of this wondrous place, talk to the trees, commune with them? Would you mind terribly if I did that? It would mean a great deal to me.”

“Like naverum … you welcome … come, stay and enjoy garden.” Sehet waved toward Dog. “He like place too. Visit many times. We feed treats and play with him. He really like ball and orc and goblin bones we give. He like us. We like him. He good dog. Give good cuddles.”

At the mention of treats, Dog’s head came up again. His gaze focused on the gnome priest and his tongue licked at the sides of his muzzle. Sehet, for his part, did not seem to notice the animal’s sudden attention and interest. Imagining the gnomes playing with Dog, Stiger almost grinned, for he was certain it was something to see.

“Thank you, Sehet. I appreciate that.” Taha’Leeth bowed her head to the gnome in a mark of respect. When she straightened, the priest had vanished.

“That’s a little unsettling,” Stiger said.

“Yes, it is.” She ran her gaze around the gardens for a moment more and let go a breath that was part sigh. “This place reminds me of happier, peaceful times … it brings forth memories of home.”

Stiger sucked in a deep breath. Her home no longer existed. The Horde had destroyed it. It was almost as if he could feel her sudden pain, the terrible longing, the sense of loss.

“It is very peaceful here,” she added. “I hope it is a good foretoken of what is to one day come.”

“Yeah. There’s something about this garden … it’s captivating. If you allowed it, you could lose yourself to the peace. I could even manage to relax here.” Stiger physically shook himself and glanced toward the gate by which they had entered. It was time to return to the palace. “I think we should go. Ruga will be getting worried.”

“Yes,” Taha’Leeth said, with a note of regret. “We can come back another time. In fact, I mean to return, and soon. It would be good for our child”—she placed a hand upon her belly—“to be close to this place. I could happily meditate here for days on end.”

“Come on,” Stiger said. They both turned toward the gate. As they did, Dog stood, shook himself, his long ears flapping loudly, then padded forward and up to Stiger, who stopped and looked down at the animal.

Dog gave a light whine.

“So,” Stiger said to Dog, “you’re going to join us now, is that it? Plan on braving the cold, sacrificing this nice place for our company?”

Dog gave a low whine of protest, and with that, Stiger turned away for the gate, which was still open. He stepped through and in the blink of an eye found himself back in the Temple District. It was a moonless night, with a heavy layer of cloud cover overhead, making everything around them nearly pitch-black.

The cold hit him like a slap in the face and Stiger gave an involuntary shiver as a light gust chilled him to the bone. Almost immediately, his breath steamed on the air.

Ruga stood there, a few feet away, waiting. With him were six men, all wearing long cloaks that concealed their armor. None wore helmets.

The only light in the district was from the temples themselves. A few lamps had been hung from poles along the steps that led up to each. Beyond the pools of light, they provided very little illumination to the surrounding area.

“Did you do what you needed to, sir?” Ruga asked.

“Yes,” Stiger said as Taha’Leeth emerged next, with Dog following right behind her.

Stiger’s wife pulled her cloak closer about her person in a clear attempt to guard against the cold, for the night’s air was very bitter. “I much prefer the sun,” she said to him in Elven, “than this … this cold. I was never fond of winter.”

“Ready to head back to the palace now, sir?” Ruga asked, almost eagerly. “It will be good to get out of this cold, and I don’t much like you being down here in the city, even if it’s the Temple District, with so little protection, sir. I will feel much better when we’re back in the palace.”

“It was necessary,” Stiger said, “and yes, let’s get moving.”

“All right, boys,” Ruga said quietly. “We’re gonna move like we’re just a group of locals returning late from devotions. As before, I want the same three in front and three behind. No talking … let’s just walk casual-like and try not to draw any unwanted attention. Now, move out.”

They started walking up the street, in the direction of the Palace District. The paved street was broad, easily fifty yards across. It had been shoveled clean of snow, but patches of ice had formed on some of the stones. It made negotiating the street a tricky thing, especially in the dark.

There were few out and about, for the hour was late. Illuminated by lamp or torchlight, a handful of temple guards stood at the tops of the steps that led up and into the various temples.

Dog padded almost silently along at Stiger’s side. For such an uncommonly large animal, he was unnaturally quiet. Then again, when it came to Dog, there was nothing natural about him. Dog was a naverum, one of the spiritual guardians of Olimbus, the place where the gods resided. He was also a friend and devoted companion, of whom Stiger had become quite fond and to whom he owed his life many times over.

As they walked deeper into the Temple District, Stiger found himself gazing upon the darkened structures of the temples they passed, one after another. They reached Neptune’s temple, then came Mars’s. Both buildings were incredibly imposing, larger than most of the others, but with few windows, none of which emitted any light.

Come morning they would open their doors for those who wished to pay honor to their chosen god or make a sign of respect and offer up a prayer. A wide range of other services were provided too, including money exchange.

Last of all was the High Father’s temple. Ahead, at the very top of the hill, he could see it. Unlike the other temples, the entrance was brilliantly lit. The white marble steps reflected light from dozens upon dozens of torches. From the great colored glass windows of the worship hall, light shone outward in a brilliant display.

It looked as if the High Father’s temple was open for business, which was unusual for such a late hour. The priests, monks, and servants should be in their cells, sleeping the night away under a heavy blanket. But it did not look like that was happening.

When they had come down from the palace, they had taken a different route to avoid attention, circling out into the city and around the Temple District, then coming up from the lower city.

Stiger had not wanted anyone to know where they were going. And by taking such a circuitous route, which was incidentally lined with concealed men, he had ensured they had not been followed.

Now, however, they were taking the most direct way back to the palace. Somewhere just beyond the High Father’s temple and the Temple District, Spatz’s entire company waited, hidden and out of view in the darkness for their return. With Spatz waited an unhappy Therik. Stiger’s friend had wanted to go with him, but an orc out in the city would have drawn too much attention.

“Ruga,” Stiger said, “is there some sort of festival tonight?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Ruga said, eyeing the brilliantly lit temple.

“Then why all the lights?” Stiger indicated the temple with a hand. They were rapidly drawing nearer, and Stiger could see several figures making their way up the marble steps and hustling inside, as if they were late for something.

“I dunno,” Ruga said. “Then again, I’ve never really been one to keep up with festivals, other than the High Holy Days, sir. I never saw much point, though I do offer the occasional sacrifice to stay in good standing. Best not irritate the gods, if you know what I mean, sir, especially in our profession.”

Stiger did know what the centurion meant, for many of the gods were known to be fickle and vindictive. By offering regular devotion or the occasional sacrifice, a soldier was looking out for his own best interests. Stiger himself had done the same.

They continued on, coming closer and closer to the temple. When they were almost adjacent to the entrance, with the massive edifice of the High Father’s temple seeming to tower over them, Stiger came to a halt. His escort stopped as well as Stiger stared at the temple, thinking.

“Ruga, see that temple guardsman just over there?” Stiger pointed at a man standing under a large oil lamp at the base of the steps. The light shone down directly upon the guard in question. “Go find out what’s going on.”

“Is there a problem, sir?” Ruga asked, looking back at him in question.

“Not that I am aware of. I just want to find out what’s happening at this late hour.”

“Aye, sir.” With that, Ruga turned away and moved across the street, toward the guardsman.

“So, is there a problem?” Taha’Leeth asked in Elven, taking a step nearer. “Be honest with me, husband. I am a big girl and can take bad news.”

“I’m not sure,” Stiger admitted, eyeing the temple. Though he could not put his finger on it, he had a feeling that something was not quite right. It may just be a normal temple function, a meeting of some sort … then again, he was the High Father’s Champion, and his gut was telling him something was off.

“You.” Stiger tapped the nearest man on the shoulder after Ruga reached the Temple Guard on the other side of the street and started talking. “What’s your name?”

“Rufus, sir,” the legionary replied.

“Do you know where Captain Spatz’s company is waiting?” Stiger asked.

“I do, sir,” Rufus replied. “Centurion Ruga made a point of making sure each of us knew the spot in case we had to find it in a hurry.”

“Good. Go find Captain Spatz and have him bring up his company to the temple. Have him do it immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Rufus jogged off into the night.

“And if you are overreacting?” Taha’Leeth asked him in Elven. “What will you do?”

“Then we have a larger escort,” Stiger said in Common, “and make a bit of a show of it. That’s not always a bad thing for an emperor.”

She gave a light chuckle. “More like scare the priests with a show of force is what you will do.”

“There is that.”

A few moments later, Ruga was making his way back across the street, sauntering over in a very unlegionary manner. But for his concern, Stiger almost thought it comical.

“Well?” Stiger asked as the centurion stopped before him.

“It’s a sort of mass blessing, sir,” Ruga said.

“A mass blessing?” Stiger turned his gaze to the temple. “Really? At this late hour?”

“The High Priestess put out a call to all priests of the region to come in for a special service, sir. They will offer devotion, the regular sacrifices, that sort of thing, and in return be blessed by the High Priestess herself. The man I spoke to, Bulo over there, said the priests are pretty excited by it and they’re coming in from all over the bloody place. He wasn’t too happy about standing out in the cold either, sir. They’re shorthanded, what with the old High Priest taking much of the Temple Guard with him.”

“Did you make a new drinking buddy?” Stiger asked.

Ruga frowned and glanced back toward the guard, who looked cold and bored. “Ah … Bulo seemed all right, sir. I’d share a drink with him, but not regularly. He’s not one us, after all. You know, legionaries. Why do you ask, sir?”

“Really? You can’t recognize sarcasm anymore?”

In reply, Ruga grinned at him as if to say, Two can play that game.

“What else did he tell you?” Stiger asked.

“Right, sir. He told me the name of the service that’s to be conducted. I’m sorry, sir, I could not remember the name. It was Telascacal or something like that … regardless, it’s rarely been conducted, a twilight or starlight service of some sort that’s held before the sun comes up. Thousands of priests have come into the city. There’s hardly a room available in the adjacent districts, with some of the priests even sleeping on the streets in the lower sections of the city, sir. Can you imagine that? In this cold, sir?”

“I see,” Stiger said, eyeing the temple closely. He wondered why he’d not heard anything about it. Then again, he’d just returned to the city that morning. Perhaps the High Priestess had informed his father and, with Harananos showing up with the World Gate Key, it had slipped Marcus’s mind to tell him.

“It’s just a service, sir,” Ruga said. “May I ask where you sent my man? I saw him jogging off.”

“To bring up Spatz’s company,” Stiger said.

“You do think something’s wrong, then,” Ruga said, turning to suspiciously eye the temple himself.

“I just don’t know.”

Dog growled. It set the back of Stiger’s hair on end, for it was low, menacing, and guttural.

A group of twenty-plus priests hustled by on the opposite side of the street. They were coming up from down in the city. In the darkness it was hard to make out much of their features, just their priestly robes with the hoods pulled up against the cold. Stiger looked down at the animal as the growling grew more intense.

“You don’t like them?” Stiger asked. The animal’s gaze was fixed, following the priests as they turned off the street and began making their way up the steps toward the temple’s entrance.

“I don’t think he does, sir,” Ruga said quietly. “I don’t rightly think he does, sir.”

Stiger wasn’t sure what was on the wind, but the feeling was growing. He turned to his wife.

“I’m gonna send you back to the palace with two men as an escort,” Stiger said. “This is no place—”

“No, you will not,” Taha’Leeth said with firmness, interrupting him. Her gaze intense, she pointed a finger in his face, then aimed it at the ground. “I am staying right here, by your side, husband, and that is the end of that. Do not even try me on this.”

“I think she means to stay, sir,” Ruga said.

Stiger felt a terrible stab of frustration as he shot the centurion a hot look. Taha’Leeth was still healing. More importantly, she was carrying their baby. That said, he knew without a doubt there would be no winning this argument. She would remain by his side and that was that.

“Ruga,” Stiger said, giving in, “send another man to Captain Spatz. Have him send runners and call on both the palace and the city watch for reinforcements. Get them here on the double.”

“Mikuus,” Ruga said. “You heard the imperator. Get moving, son.”

The legionary immediately jogged off into the night, heading in the direction Rufus had gone.

“What are you thinking, sir?”

“That we’re going up there and into the temple,” Stiger said.

“If there’s gonna be trouble, that’s not a good idea, sir,” Ruga said. “In fact, it’s a downright bad one. There are only a few of us, four of my boys and me to protect you. That’s not exactly an army or, for that matter, a solid protection detail, sir.”

Before Ruga could say more, Stiger started off at a brisk pace, moving across the street, toward the hundreds of marble steps ahead that led up and into the entrance of the temple complex.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ruga growled from behind. “Protect the emperor with your lives, boys. Anyone looks even somewhat hostile, you stick them. Go, go, go!”

A moment later, Stiger could hear his escort hurrying to catch up, their hobnailed sandals cracking on the paving stones. His wife and Dog were already on either side, easily keeping pace.

With each passing step, the High Father’s call pulled him forward and toward the temple. Something was wrong, and whatever it was, Stiger intended on confronting it head on.

Chapter Thirteen

“Hold up right there, friends.”

A shield in one hand, Bulo raised his other hand, palm outward, as they crossed the street and made a beeline for the steps. The guardsman wore a simple chainmail shirt and helmet and carried a rectangular shield that had been painted white and was emblazoned with the High Father’s lightning bolt. “It’s priests only tonight … no exceptions. I’m sorry but I can’t let you pass.”

“You will make an exception for us,” Stiger growled without slowing as he drew nearer. With another man at his side, Ruga had moved himself in front of Stiger. Both were now striding confidently before him.

Bulo frowned, for that was clearly not the reply he’d anticipated. His face hardened in consternation that he was being actively defied. Raising his shield from where the bottom rested upon the paving stones, he took a step forward, toward them.

“I said—”

“Stand aside for the emperor,” Ruga snapped harshly before Bulo could do or say more.

“What? Who?” Bulo asked, stopping. As they closed the last few feet, Stiger realized the guardsman was nothing more than a youth, perhaps seventeen or eighteen at most. The boy blinked rapidly as they came into the torchlight, his eyes snapping to Dog and then back to Stiger. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. That rapidly became apparent, for he drew himself up to attention and, fist to chest, gave a crisp salute.

“At least they can salute,” Ruga hissed, almost to himself, though Stiger heard it clear enough. The centurion raised his voice. “Carry on, son.”

“Ye … yes, sir,” the guard stammered.

Then they were past, climbing the steps, the hobnails on their boots cracking loudly against the granite, which had been thoroughly cleaned of ice and snow. Steadily, they made their way up the dozens upon dozens of steps, toward the entrance to the temple complex.

To Stiger, it seemed as if they were scaling the side of a mountain, for the steps were steep. As they neared the top, two guardsmen moved away from their positions by the entrance gate and, raising their white shields, readied themselves to bar the way.

“Make way for the emperor,” Ruga snapped at them in a hard tone that brooked no interference. “Get out of the bloody way, damn you!”

As if to emphasize the centurion’s words, Dog issued a deep growl that was chilling in the extreme. It wasn’t a threat, but a promise for violence. Even the hairs on the back of Stiger’s neck stood on end at the sound of it. Both guards froze, their eyes going to the massive shaggy dog at Stiger’s side then eyeing Stiger and Taha’Leeth as they continued up the steps without slowing.

With a glance at each other, both guardsmen, also in their teens, immediately took a step back and out of the way. They drew themselves to attention and saluted. Stiger reached the top of the steps and, without even a side glance, strode through the entrance gate and into the outer temple complex.

A few feet inside, he ground to a halt. His escort stopped with him. The temple complex consisted of three main buildings, along with several smaller ones. The entire complex was surrounded by a twelve-foot stone wall that had been plastered over.

A hundred yards away, the main worship hall was directly to their front. With its golden-tiled roof, the structure was a massive edifice that towered over everything else by several stories, dominating the entire area. The stained-glass windows radiated light in an impressive and emotionally moving display. Each window told a story from the holy book, the scripture, with the most important and central piece facing them—the promise, the one the High Father had made to Karus and the original Romans.

“An empire without end,” Stiger said to himself as he took it all in.

Though smaller, the other two structures within the complex were impressive but dark and uninviting, but for a few windows from which the dull glow of lamplight could be seen. Stiger knew one of the buildings was for priestly quarters and administrative duties. The other held not only the imperial treasury, which was bare, but the church’s as well.

Stiger’s gaze went to the main worship hall. Hundreds of torches and lanterns had been lit to light the way across the outer yard from the entrance to the hall. This was called the Hallowed Walk, which had been paved over in poured concrete.

A scattering of priests moved across the Walk toward the worship hall from the entrance to the complex or the priestly quarters. They were all making their way in a hurried gait, as if they were late. The two massive bronze-plated doors, each more than twenty feet in height, had been thrown open, granting entrance to the hall. Yellowed light blazed outward from within.

Stiger felt the wrongness deep in his gut, his bones even, but what that was, he had no idea. At his side, Dog had stilled and was staring directly toward the entrance to the worship hall. His right front leg was up in a pointing position, and he was growling softly.

“Well, husband,” Taha’Leeth said in Elven, sidling closer to him. “What now?”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered his options. After a moment, he turned to his centurion.

“Ruga,” Stiger said. “Leave a man here to point Spatz in the direction we’re headed. Once he gets here, he and his company are to join us with all haste.”

“Yes, sir.” Ruga turned and pointed with a finger. “Berkus. That’s you. Think you can handle that?”

“Aye, sir,” Berkus replied.

With that sorted, Stiger started forward again, crossing the Hallowed Walk and heading right for the worship hall’s entrance. As they neared, massed singing could be heard coming from inside.

Stiger recognized the hymn but could not recall its name. It was an odd one, old even, with a comforting melody, and pleasant to the ear. Then it hit him where he had heard it before. He had a sudden flash of his mother’s funeral. The small temple where her ashes were interred. The beautiful urn. His father, stoic in his legionary armor. The choir standing behind the old priest officiating. At the time, the hymn had moved Stiger to tears, but not his father. He had thought the man cold beyond caring. Now he knew better.

A guard detail of four men stood to either side of the entrance, along with an officer, whose back was turned to them. He was gazing into the hall, watching. One of the men said something and pointed. The officer turned and scowled as he saw them approach. Then his eyes widened in clear recognition.

“Stand to attention for the emperor,” the officer snapped hastily to his men, who instantly came to positions of attention.

Just before the threshold to the worship hall, with the Temple Guard to either side, Stiger stopped. He studied what lay before him. The interior of the hall was brightly illuminated by thousands of magical candles suspended high above on chandeliers. Floor lamps were positioned along the outer walls of the temple. These stood about six feet in height and were also magical, burning with eternal luminescence.

It was said that the church owned more magical relics than the rest of the imperial population combined, especially those for lighting. Stiger could well believe that.

With a wide-open walkway running down the center of the hall, there were at least three thousand priests arranged to either side of the entrance in orderly ranks. The lane went up to the High Priestess, who stood directly before the altar with her back to him. There were two other priests with her and, judging by their white and thinning hair, both were elderly, likely heads of their orders.

Ten yards separated the ranks of attending priests and the High Priestess with the two elderly priests. A bull, clearly the service’s main sacrifice, waited before the altar. Just beyond, in all its majesty, towered the High Father’s statue, seeming to gaze down upon those gathered with benevolent approval.

Stiger scanned the ranks of the priests, all of whom were standing and singing in unison. They wore a range of robes, most plain brown, others green and tan. Stiger even saw orange and red sprinkled about, which told him monks from various monasteries had come for the service as well.

Eyes scanning, he could see no overt threat, just a lot of priests gathered for worship. Still, Stiger knew something was wrong. There was danger here. Of that, he was certain, for the pull had grown stronger, more powerful. It was urging him forward and into the worship hall. He could only assume, whoever it was meant ill of the new High Priestess.

“Imperator,” the Temple Guard officer said, speaking up somewhat nervously, “may … may I help you?”

Stiger dragged his gaze from the service and looked over at the man, studying him for a long moment before replying. The rank he bore was that of a captain. It was denoted by a gray ceremonial ribbon tied about his chest. He was young, no more than twenty-five years of age, perhaps even younger, with a fresh and youthful face. His eyes held none of the experience and depth one would find in a legionary veteran.

Like the rest of the Temple Guard, he wore ceremonial armor that was different than those worn by the legions. Along with the helmet, it consisted of a chainmail shirt and blue tunic. The white cape was of a rich cut, which informed Stiger the man had means and was likely a second or third son. The torchlight outside the worship hall seemed to catch the lightning bolt emblazoned on the man’s shield and highlight it.

“What’s your name?” Stiger asked.

“Jules Merren Garvus, Imperator. I am captain of the Temple Guard.”

Stiger was unfamiliar with the family name, which meant he was most probably of the equestrian class. The story was one as old as the empire’s founding. Hoping to set a son, who stood no chance of inheriting, upon a career where he could make a life for himself and build something of his own, the man’s father had purchased Garvus’s appointment. Stiger’s own father had done the same thing, only in the legions, not the Temple Guard.

“Captain of the entire Guard?” Ruga asked, as if in dismay. “Really? You?”

“Yes,” Garvus said, stiffly, his face coloring. “I was promoted to this position last week.”

“How many men do you have within calling distance?” Stiger asked, before Ruga could say something that would either offend or humiliate the man further. Ruga might be smart, but there were times when his mouth unintentionally caused trouble.

“My men?” Garvus asked, clearly confused by the question.

“Yes, how many do you have that you can gather right now?” Stiger asked.

“Beyond these four”—Garvus thought for a moment—“another five. May I ask why, Imperator?”

Inside the hall, the singing rose in volume and pitch.

“Get them, now,” Stiger ordered, using the voice of command he had cultivated over the years. “Hurry, man, there’s trouble on the wind.”

“Trouble?”

“That’s right, get those additional men here, now. Hurry before it is too late.”

“Yes, sir.” Carrying his shield and with his chainmail chinking, Garvus jogged off.

Stiger turned back to the worship hall, studying it again, closer this time, trying to divine where the threat lay. He ran his gaze across the ranks upon ranks of priests. Nothing stood out as out of the ordinary or, for that matter, seemed off.

“What are you thinking, sir?” Ruga asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice so that the guardsmen who stood to either side of the entrance could not overhear over the singing, which was already incredibly loud. Stiger doubted the nearest would be able to hear them if they used their normal voices.

“Yes, husband,” Taha’Leeth said, stepping closer, “I would like to know your intentions as well.”

“We have a problem here,” Stiger admitted.

“I figured that one out, sir,” Ruga said. “I meant what are you planning on doing about it?”

Eyes still on the worship hall and the thousands of singing priests, Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered the question. The moment he’d sent Garvus for his men, he’d made his decision on how to proceed, but had just not fully realized it yet. He looked back over at Ruga and couldn’t help but grin.

“Aw, shit.” Ruga’s gaze went to the hall as realization hit home. He gave a soft groan and looked back at Stiger. “Bloody gods … tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do, sir.”

“What?” Taha’Leeth asked, looking over at Ruga and then at Stiger.

“High Father forgive me, but bloody gods, sir,” Ruga said and stamped a foot.

Stiger gave a shrug, looking over at his wife. “Well, when you don’t know where the enemy is, sometimes the best strategy is to simply draw them out and to you.”

“You mean to expose us to attack?” Taha’Leeth asked and turned her gaze into the hall, the magical light reflecting in her eyes.

“It’s better than waiting for them to make their move,” Stiger said, “like in our room the other night. At least this time we will be ready and expecting trouble.”

She was silent for a long moment, then looked back over at Stiger. “I approve, husband. Let us go bring the fight to us.”

“This is a big risk, sir,” Ruga said. “You realize that, right?”

“I know,” Stiger said.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ruga cursed. “My job is to protect the bloody two of you. How can I do that with so few men? No offense, sir, but this is a terrible idea. We don’t even have shields, just our swords. If it’s an assassination attempt, we don’t even know how many assassins are in there or, for that matter, who’s the enemy and who’s not.”

“Sometimes a bad idea can be a good one,” Stiger said.

“Now you’re sounding like Eli,” Ruga said, his frustration plain.

“Where do you think I got that line?”

“And most of the time, that bloody elf is full of shit, sir,” Ruga said, then looked hastily at Taha’Leeth. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

“I’ve heard worse in my time, Centurion,” Taha’Leeth said.

Before Ruga could reply, with armor chinking as they jogged up, Garvus was back. The captain of the Temple Guard had with him five additional men, including Bulo, who had been stationed down on the street.

Cheeks flushed, the captain was out of breath and so too were his men. Jogging in armor was tiring, but Garvus had not been gone that long, so he’d not gone that far, which told Stiger the man and his men were out of shape. They were not prepared for a real fight, let alone an ugly brawl, which was what they might be dealing with shortly. It was no real surprise, for Garvus was a guardsman and not a legionary.

Stiger looked over the men the captain had brought. All were young, fresh-faced, and likely in their late teens, with most having no hints of facial hair. Like the rest of the Temple Guard, they were smartly turned out though. Their equipment was a cut above legionary gear.

Like Garvus, they were all most likely second and third sons of wealthy families who did not want to see their children carved up by some barbarian on the frontier. Putting them in the Temple Guard was not only safer, but was considered a prestigious posting, something to brag upon.

Stiger had no illusions about their training, let alone fitness. With the previous High Priest having taken much of the Temple Guard with him, these were essentially new recruits, or at the worst, the undesirables who had been left behind. Stiger made a mental note to address the staffing of the Temple Guard as soon as possible. The High Priestess deserved veterans protecting her and the temple. Somehow, he’d see that she got them.

“There is an enemy here.” Stiger turned his attention to the gathered men, both Ruga’s and Garvus’s. He’d raised his voice so he could be heard over the singing. He was not concerned it would carry into the hall.

“An enemy?” Garvus asked, looking around. “Where?”

A heartbeat later, comprehension seemed to dawn within the captain’s eyes. The man’s gaze shifted to the worship hall and the priests.

“Somewhere in there, amongst the clergy,” Stiger confirmed and gestured with a hand, “and whoever they are, I believe they mean the High Priestess ill. They may be Cyphan assassins. I just don’t know. What I do know is that we’re going to march in there and do all we can to protect her. I have reinforcements on the way. No matter what happens, we’re going to keep her safe until help arrives. Is that understood?”

“Ah, yes, sir,” Garvus said.

Stiger noticed that Garvus and his men appeared unsettled by what he’d just told them, for there was a general shifting amongst them, along with shared looks that spoke deeply of concern and worry. It was clear they had not expected any serious action or for themselves to be placed in harm’s way. Stiger immediately understood he needed to keep things moving along and not give them any time to think or have second thoughts about what they were going to do … what he wanted them to do.

“Captain,” Stiger said in a hard tone, “form your men up. We’re going to make this look like a state visit. You and your boys will march at the head of my escort. Once inside, we will place ourselves between the general priests and her holiness, understand?”

“I do, sir. You heard the imperator. Form up,” Garvus snapped, his voice cracking slightly from a clear case of the nerves, “escort column of two.”

Garvus’s men moved into position as Stiger removed his robe and tossed it aside. There was no point in using it anymore. Besides, he wanted everyone to see who had come into the worship hall.

Underneath was his legionary armor. He’d not brought his bearskin cloak, for it was bulky and would have made the robe look awkward and perhaps given them away as they made their way down into the city and back up from Karus’s temple.

He rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword and felt the accustomed tingle. It did not bring a feeling or sense of comfort, especially after Rarokan’s recent attempt upon him. A moment later, the centurion and his men shrugged out of their robes and cast them aside as well. Taha’Leeth removed hers, revealing a green tunic with brown pants and leather boots. Belted to her side was a slender sword that was longer than a gladius by a foot.

“Ruga,” Stiger said, “I want your men behind us. Remember to make this look like a state visit.”

“At this late hour?” Ruga asked dubiously.

The singing inside the hall fell silent for a moment before picking up again and rising in pitch as they began belting out a new hymn. This one Stiger remembered, “The Blessed Spirit Warrior.” He was not so fond of it, as he thought it sounded garish and discordant.

“Call it a surprise visit, then,” Stiger said to the centurion. “Either way, we’re gracing the High Priestess and those attending this service with our presence. That’s the end of it.”

“I’m sure they will feel right honored, sir,” Ruga replied sourly, then glanced around at the men. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Still, sir, six of us against whatever trouble’s waiting in there. This isn’t making me feel warm inside.”

Stiger noted the centurion had not counted Garvus’s men, which only served to reinforce his doubts about them. If it came to a standup fight, the temple guardsmen could very well break and run. It was a disagreeable situation, but there was no getting around it. He had to rely upon Garvus and his boys, for there was no one else readily available.

“That’s right, there are only a few of us,” Stiger said to the centurion. “Whoever’s brought trouble won’t think we’re much of a threat. In fact, I am hoping they see it as an opportunity to nail two birds with one stone. Besides, if we wanted things easy, we’d never have joined the legions in the first place.”

Stiger turned his gaze back to the worship hall, eyes roving over the ranks of singing priests. Nothing readily stood out to him as out of the ordinary.

“Some of us were just young and dumb, sir,” Ruga said.

“I’m guessing you were the dumb one?” Stiger looked over at Ruga and grinned.

“I’m here with you, aren’t I, sir?” Ruga asked soberly.

“I guess that says it all,” Taha’Leeth said, “now, doesn’t it?”

“And are we a threat, sir?” Ruga asked.

“Always,” Stiger said.

“Damn right, sir.” The centurion turned to face his men and raised his voice some so he could be heard over the singing. “You hear that, boys? We’re a distinct threat and we’re going to stand alongside the emperor, just like we’ve done time and again in battle. We may be simple valley legionaries, but he keeps us around because we make even the meanest killers weep in fear. And I picked you lot because you are the meanest, nastiest, and foulest bastards in the entirety of my century. Hell, you’re so mean and ugly, the prostitutes don’t even take your coin. They won’t have you. You’re sorry maggots that even a mother would have difficulty embracing and claiming as her own, but who needs mothers and whores when Uncle Ruga loves you as his own?”

There were nods and grins from the centurion’s men, all of whom were older and hardened veterans.

“I love you too, sir,” one of the men said.

The centurion shot the man a tight smile before his look became a firm one. “Whoever comes against us to do violence, we’re going to show them what real violence is … the legionary way. Whether it comes to the gladius, knives, or our own two hands, we’re gonna murder them something good. Fight like the bastards I know you to be, the bastards Uncle Ruga has come to love. Now form up into a column of two behind the emperor before I get all teary-eyed.”

As Stiger waited a moment for Ruga’s men to get set, Taha’Leeth moved over to his side.

“Good speech,” Stiger said to the centurion.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Garvus,” Stiger pointed forward, “move out.”

With that, the small column started forward. Dog remained close by his side, padding between him and Taha’Leeth.

The singing of hymns had continued unabated. Though it was pleasant, it was loud, and increased in volume as they entered the worship hall. The High Priestess, along with the two elderly priests, was still facing the altar and away from them.

At first, as they moved down the aisle, they weren’t noticed. Then, those they passed ceased their singing and gawked. Stiger understood that many of those gathered were lowly priests and monks, especially from the rows closest toward the back of the hall. Seeing the emperor would be the highlight of the service. Those members of the clergy who were more prominent or ranked higher would be positioned closer to the front.

Without trying to make a show of it, Stiger glanced to either side at the priests as he passed them by at a brisk pace. He sensed nothing from those nearest, at least nothing worrisome.

By the time he neared the front rows, much of the singing had faltered. In its place, Stiger could hear the hiss of whispering. Clearly wondering what was wrong, High Priestess Camela turned. Her gaze spotted the approaching procession, then locked onto Stiger as they moved past the first row of priests and out into open space, continuing toward her.

As they reached the High Priestess, the Temple Guard stopped. Garvus bowed respectfully to her holiness and snapped an order to his men. With a practiced precision, they moved crisply aside and assumed positions of attention, facing the gathering of priests.

“Parade rest,” Garvus snapped.

Shifting their stance, the guardsmen set their shields upon the ground and relaxed a fraction. Camela eyed them for a moment as Stiger stepped forward and up to her.

“This is an unexpected surprise, Imperator,” Camela said, looking on Taha’Leeth with genuine curiosity and interest. Stiger wondered if she had ever seen an elf before. Taha’Leeth, for her part, had remained a step behind him and then, under the scrutiny of the High Priestess, moved up and to Stiger’s side. She inclined her head to Camela, which was returned in kind.

“May I introduce Taha’Leeth, the Rasensa Sovereign,” Stiger said. “She is the equivalent of a princess, or maybe even a queen, amongst her people and is my guest tonight.”

“You grace us with your presence,” Camela said. “I thank you both for coming. We are celebrating the coming of the new moon. It is a moment of rebirth, an opportunity for self-reflection, repentance, and, more importantly, forgiveness for past transgressions and wrongs done to others. It is an opportunity to look within, to examine the soul, beg for absolution and resolve to be better. At the conclusion of our service tonight, I will be performing a mass blessing of all present who are true of heart and genuinely repentant.”

“I understand this is a rare service,” Stiger said.

“Sadly true,” Camela said. “The High Holy Days have taken center stage when it comes to repentance and forgiveness. It should be a continual process, a regular conversation between our lord and each individual. By holding this service, I am attempting to remind the faithful of their personal responsibility.”

One of the priests behind her stepped forward and whispered something in the High Priestess’s ear.

Camela gave a curt nod. “Why have you come?”

“We were passing by,” Stiger said. “I thought I would drop in on your lovely service. We could hear the hymns clear out on the street.”

“I welcome you back to the High Father’s hall, then,” Camela said. “We are honored by your presence.”

Stiger was pleased. The High Priestess, though still new at her job, looked to be taking to it, and strongly too.

She glanced up to the imperial box and gestured in its direction. “We always have a place ready for the emperor and his guests.”

“Not this time,” Stiger said as he took a couple of steps nearer and lowered his voice so it would not carry. “Perhaps, as the High Father’s Champion, I will join you for the offering, the call for repentance … and blessing that is to come?”

Camela appeared confused, for her brow furrowed slightly. The same elderly priest stepped forward again and whispered something in her ear. It seemed like he was coaching her. Glancing back, she gave a nod that seemed a little uncertain. She said something to the priest that Stiger could not hear. With that, the priest took a step back and resumed his position. The wider whispering amongst the gathered priests in the hall had continued, growing louder, it seemed, by the moment.

“Do you feel called to do so?” she asked, lowering her voice so only those nearest could hear. There was a shrewd look in her gaze. “As Champion, have you been called here to this humble service?”

“I have,” Stiger admitted.

When she spoke, she raised her voice so it was loud, firm, and would carry. “Very well, Imperator, as Champion, you may join us in this holy assemblage. You are always welcome here.” She looked beyond Stiger and back upon the gathering of priests. “Tonight, Imperator Stiger, Champion of the High Father, will join us in the blessing and honoring of our lord. He will help us lead the call for repentance and forgiveness.”

There was a cheer, followed by applause from the massed assemblage. It went on for a bit. Stiger turned slightly and looked back at Ruga. “I want your men facing outward behind us, looking at the priests, understand?”

“I do, sir,” Ruga said and snapped a series of orders. His men began to move, repositioning themselves.

Camela looked to Stiger and raised an eyebrow. “Are your men necessary?”

“They are,” Stiger said firmly.

The whispering had begun again as the silence had grown.

“Very well.”

The High Priestess turned her gaze to the assemblage and raised her hands up into the air for quiet. It took a moment, but near silence reigned supreme in the vast hall.

“Will you take a position on my right, then?” Camela gestured. “It is a place of honor.”

With that, Stiger glanced back at the ranks of priests who were watching the drama play out before them with much interest and curiosity. He studied them for a moment, then looked over at Taha’Leeth and bit his lip lightly.

Stiger well recalled his father’s reservations about introducing her to the people of the empire as his wife. He had wanted to do it in a manner that would be to their benefit. For a moment, Stiger considered Therik’s words up on the imperial balcony just a few days ago.

“Do you think they will really care?” Therik had asked. “The empire is on the precipice. The Castol are marching down from the north with an army. The Cyphan Confederacy marches from the south. Time and again your empire’s armies have been crushed, defeated. Only you have been victorious. It may have escaped your notice, but you, alone, bring your people hope. You are their savior, their hero, their light in the darkness … their champion.”

That had been when he’d picked out Camela as the High Father’s choice as High Priestess. Taha’Leeth was here and in his presence, a strange and exotic elven beauty with fiery red hair. She was bound to be the talk of the city tomorrow. The rumors and speculation as to why an elf had attended the service would spread and grow in the telling. There was no stopping that now. Or was there?

So be it.

“Will you join us, my wife?” Stiger asked her in a clear tone that was meant to carry throughout the hall. He held out his arm to her.

The announcement did not seem to surprise her in any meaningful way. She simply took it in stride. “I will,” Taha’Leeth said in a matching tone. She reached out and laid a hand upon his proffered arm. “I will honor the High Father with you, my husband, my love.”

Out amongst the priests there were audible gasps. The hissing of whispering began again, this time with more intensity. Stiger noted Camela’s expression of startlement, along with that of the two priests standing behind her. The one who had whispered in her ear looked none too pleased by the news. His eyes hardened ever so slightly as he watched them in what Stiger took to be plain disapproval, but beyond that, he exhibited no other outward signs of distaste or anger.

No matter what he did, Stiger would never have full approval of his actions, not from everyone, especially since he’d married an elf. Some would welcome the union, and others, particularly the literalists and fundamentalists, would despise it and view his marriage as proof he was being controlled by the elves and therefore not worthy of his position as emperor. There would even be people who considered it an unholy union and abomination, especially given his position as the High Father’s Champion.

Having recovered from her initial surprise, Camela gestured again for Stiger to join her, indicating the spot for him and his wife to stand with an open hand.

With Taha’Leeth at his side, Stiger started forward, moving toward the position just ahead of the disapproving priest. As he moved, with her hand upon his arm, Stiger guided his wife with him. Dog padded along as well. Once they reached the indicated spot, the animal sat upon his haunches. Tongue hanging out the left side of his mouth, and tail wagging, he stared up at the High Father’s statue, as if gazing upon an old familiar friend—a friend who provided treats.

Behind them, the whispering had grown in volume. The bull shifted uncomfortably at Dog’s proximity and gave a tug on the rope that held it in place. The rope was tied to an iron ring set into the floor and there was no budging that.

The High Priestess began to sing another hymn, and as she started, the mass whispering died down. The acoustics in the hall were incredible. As she continued from one note to the next in the original tongue of the Romans, Stiger found her voice perfectly pitched, beautiful even. No, that wasn’t the correct word. Her tone was inspiring, heavenly, enchanting in its own way. It was as if she had the most perfect voice he’d ever heard.

Even Taha’Leeth seemed moved, for after a few moments, a tear appeared in her eye. She reached up and wiped it away. For a moment, Stiger lost himself to it, marveling at the beauty of Camela’s voice.

Focus, fool! If you don’t, it might be the death of you.

Stiger went very still. A cold sensation slithered down his spine. The mad wizard had managed to pry the door to his prison open again. Resisting a scowl, Stiger forced the lid of the prison closed and the wizard back down into his box.

Now was most certainly not the time to deal with the demented wizard. Rarokan sought to dominate his soul. He had to be on guard, ever vigilant, for he was certain the wizard was not finished with him. Rarokan was once more biding his time. He would undoubtedly strike again, but still … he’d had a point. Stiger needed to ready himself for what was to come.

He glanced over at his wife, who still held his arm. Unaware of his interaction with the sword, Taha’Leeth winked at him, then turned her attention back to the High Priestess as she sang in a manner so as to break the heart.

At some unseen signal, the two elderly priests moved forward, stepping past and around the bull and up to the altar. They pulled sacrificial daggers from the stone surface and turned to face the animal. It was time to make the sacrificial offering to the High Father.

Stiger resisted the urge to glance behind him, to actively scan for a threat. It was out there somewhere, only he did not know where and how the attack would come. That alone was maddening. Still, he had made the decision to draw the threat out and into the light. In doing so, he had made his bed. Like always, he would face what was to come, for he had thoroughly committed himself now.

There was no turning back.

Chapter Fourteen

The service had concluded. Nothing had happened, other than the sacrifice made, the entrails read, and the omens pronounced very auspicious by the two elderly priests assisting Camela. After that, the blessing of the priests had begun in earnest. Filled with singing and chanting, it was a second service in its own right and had gone on for hours.

After Spatz’s men had arrived, Stiger’s premonitions had begun to slacken, allowing him to relax and even enjoy the service. With Taha’Leeth by his side, he had watched and even participated, singing along with the communal chants and hymns, at least the ones he knew. It had been a good while since he had regularly attended a formal service. But now it was over and most of the priests had filed out and left.

Glancing toward the entrance to the hall, Stiger figured it had to be near dawn. His legs were stiff, and his feet hurt from standing so long. As he was watching the last of the priests file out of the massive hall, he found himself looking forward to returning to the palace and catching up on some badly needed sleep, for it had been a long night.

Looking over at his pregnant wife, he could see that it had taken its toll on her as well, for she looked weary and spent, pale even. He felt a sudden stab of concern for her. Missing sleep and standing so long couldn’t be good for her or the baby, especially with her still recovering from a near fatal wound. Then again, his wife was strong, one of the toughest people he’d ever met. She had endured hardships and tests of spirit far harsher. But, still … he worried for her wellbeing.

Looking around further, he could see the temple was basically now an armed camp. Upon his arrival during the service, he had stepped back to order Spatz to move his company into the worship hall and take up positions down the aisle and before the masses of priests. He’d effectively created a shield wall between a potential threat and the High Priestess. Outside, the militia had secured the temple complex grounds.

And now, with no prospect of action, Therik stood by the entrance to the hall with Spatz and Harex, looking bored. The three were talking as the last of the priests slowly filtered by them, exiting the hall with a night of ceremony and worship etched clearly on their faces. Idly Stiger wondered what the three were speaking about.

Hoping she had finished, he glanced around at the High Priestess. Camela had stepped away to attend to several senior priests who had been allowed forward to receive a special blessing. He was waiting for her to wrap that up.

“So,” Taha’Leeth said, in Elven, “I suppose the soldiers convinced whoever was planning something here to think twice about acting.”

Though he understood that likely, Stiger only gave a nod in reply. Whether it was a good thing or not, he was undecided. Whoever they were, they were still out there and a distinct threat. They had the initiative, for they got to choose when and where they struck.

Worse, Stiger had no idea on their identity. He was almost disappointed that they had not been drawn out and dealt with before reinforcement had arrived, for ultimately, that would have made things simpler.

Still, Stiger would not second guess himself after having ordered Spatz’s legionaries into the hall. No matter what, the High Priestess’s safety came first.

“When we get back to the palace,” Stiger said, looking over at his wife, “I am going to put Harananos on it. He might be able to dig up something and even find them.”

“That is a good first step,” Taha’Leeth said.

“Imperator.”

Stiger turned to find Camela had returned with the two elderly priests in tow.

“I believe it is time for you to tell me what is going on and why you showed up with so many armed men. What did you expect to happen?”

The High Priestess’s voice sounded hoarse to Stiger. He could well understand with all the singing she’d done. She also looked tired.

“Do you have somewhere private to talk?” Stiger asked.

“We can speak in my office,” Camela said and started to turn away.

“Just a moment, please. There is something I must do first, unfinished business, and then we can go.” Stiger turned and motioned to Spatz. It took him a heartbeat to catch the officer’s attention. “Spatz, over here.”

The captain broke away from Therik and Harex. Jogging, he made his way across the hall and over to them.

“Sir?” Spatz came to attention. “How can I help?”

“I’ve got a new assignment for you,” Stiger said.

“A job, sir?” Spatz asked and glanced around. “Does it have something to do with the Temple District?”

“No one ever accused you of being slow,” Stiger said to the captain. “It won’t be easy.”

“Whatever it is, I will do it, sir. You know me. Dedication and duty first, fun always after.”

Stiger looked around and spotted the captain of the Temple Guard a few feet away. He was speaking with a guardsman, who wore the rank of corporal, apparently passing along some orders.

“Captain Garvus,” Stiger said, “join us, if you would?”

“Yes, sir.” The man broke off from the corporal and hurriedly stepped over to them. He stiffened his position and glanced from the High Priestess to Stiger.

“Garvus, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Spatz. He is now assigned to the Temple District. He will help you not only augment the Guard, but also secure the district itself, along with the temple complex.”

“Sir?” Garvus’s eyes narrowed as the implications of what Stiger said registered. “I don’t quite understand. There was no threat here tonight. We’re a little shorthanded, yes, but that should be solved in the coming days as our recruitment drive kicks off. I assure you, the Temple Guard is sufficient for that task.”

“No, it is not,” Stiger said firmly.

“But, sir … ”

“How many guardsmen are there currently under arms?” Spatz asked, speaking up. The captain’s voice was no-nonsense and direct. “How many?”

“Currently a little under two hundred,” Garvus said.

That Garvus had not given an exact number was telling.

“I learned from one of your sergeants, you have one hundred and eighty-two men serving,” Spatz said and then pressed onward. “And how large is the Guard normally?”

“An overstrength cohort of eight hundred men,” Stiger answered before Garvus could. “The Guard is seriously understrength and, if I am any judge, undertrained as well. Spatz will work with you to help you get your boys up to legionary standards and expectations.”

“But we’re not legionaries—”

Stiger held up a hand to forestall Garvus from saying anything further, then plunged onward. “In addition to that, the captain here will assist you in the selection and vetting of your new recruits.”

The previous head priest had taken with him the treasury and nearly the entire Temple Guard. Stiger made a mental note to privately instruct Spatz to prioritize veterans, men with experience who would be loyal to the empire … and the emperor. Even if they were older men and incapable of marching with the legions, they would be far better than fresh-faced recruits.

“He and his company will remain in the district until the Guard is up to strength and capable of handling the task assigned to it. Is that understood?” Stiger hardened the last so there would be no argument.

Garvus hesitated a moment before responding. He was clearly not happy, for his independent command was being snatched away from him. He glanced over at the High Priestess as if for assistance. To her credit, she stood there silently and did not say anything. In reality, she commanded the Temple Guard. Stiger suddenly understood she might not realize that.

“I asked, do you understand?” Stiger fairly growled in a tone that brooked no further protest.

“I understand, sir,” Garvus said grudgingly.

“Good.” Stiger turned to Spatz. “At some point soon, Garvus will give you a thorough tour of the temple complex. Post men as you see fit. Until further notice, you are to quarter your entire company here as well. There was a threat tonight and they meant to harm the High Priestess. Of that, I am certain.”

Camela, who had been watching and listening, shifted uncomfortably and shared a look with the two priests with her before turning her gaze to the very last of the clergy filing out of the hall, passing almost nervously by Therik and Harex. Stiger could only imagine her thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” Spatz said. “What about the palace, sir? That’s taking an entire company away from your protection. That may not be such a good idea.”

“Lepidus and Ikuus will just have to handle that duty as best they can, at least until reinforcement is available,” Stiger said. “Your priority, for the foreseeable future, along with training the Guard up and securing the district, is to keep the High Priestess not only safe, but secure. She will need an escort and personal protection detail at all times.”

“Do you really think that necessary, Imperator?” That had come from the elderly priest who had, when they’d arrived, looked with disapproval upon Stiger and Taha’Leeth. He and the other elderly priest were standing just behind Camela. They had both conducted the sacrifice and their robes were stained dark with the bull’s blood. “An armed escort for the High Priestess will only serve to distance her from the flock, especially when she is needed most in these trying times. The last High Priest did not need such protection. The Temple Guard was more than sufficient and should still be, even if understrength. Their duty is little more than to secure the vault and keep order, direct people in the right direction, and keep them from places they are not permitted to go. Granted, occasionally there’s trouble between the followers of different gods … spirited disagreements, that sort of thing. When that gets out of hand, the Guard just cracks some heads and order is restored. Soldiers wandering our halls who have not been consecrated let alone anointed in holy purpose is insulting to the temple.”

Stiger turned to face the man and considered him for a long moment. Though old and nearly decrepit, he had a hard and unforgiving look about him. His gray eyes seemed to match his hair.

“What is your name?” Stiger asked.

“Sequitur Lassinius, Imperator. I am head of the Order of Austorian and an advisor to the High Priestess, her main advisor.”

Stiger had heard of the Order of Austorian, but did not know much about it, other than it was an arm of the church.

“To answer your question, I deem it necessary. The last High Priest betrayed his god, his position, the empire, and the people he was charged with ministering to. And so too did the Guard who went with him. They betrayed us at the very moment a servant of Valoor, along with a dark priest, had free rein within the palace. The empire finds itself in a war for its very existence and our enemy seeks to strike directly at us. They want to weaken us, and I can’t think of a better way to do that than to eliminate the High Priestess, the beating heart of the clergy and the faithful.”

“They’d dare not come here,” Lassinius said.

“Oh, they’d dare.” Stiger turned back to Spatz. “Do you have any questions, Captain?”

“Not at the moment, sir. If I have some later, I will ask.”

“Good,” Stiger said and glanced at Garvus, who looked like he had a question or two, but was too timid to ask. “Spatz, my wife and I will be speaking with the High Priestess for a bit. Ruga and his men here will provide security. When we’re done, it will be your and Garvus’s job to make certain she remains safe.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiger saw Lassinius stiffen and turn his gaze to Taha’Leeth. The man’s cheeks reddened.

“I understand, sir. I will start placing my men in key positions, first in the complex and then throughout the entire district, extending our control outward.” Spatz glanced back toward his men by the entrance. “Who knows, my boys may even get a little religion out of the experience. That would be good for them. The High Father knows they could certainly use it.”

“Mistress,” Lassinius said, with a sudden heavy weariness in his voice. “I am an old man, and these legs of mine are tired. I am also cold and in need of a warm fire. If you will kindly excuse me, I will retire and rest.”

“Sequitur, I will see you this evening for the convocation,” Camela said.

“As you say, mistress.” Lassinius turned to Stiger and bowed respectfully, as did the other elderly priest with him. Lassinius’s eyes lingered upon Taha’Leeth for a protracted moment. His gaze became a cold one, frigid even. Then, without another word, he turned and left, walking with a slight limp slowly across the worship hall for an open doorway that was located under the imperial balcony.

“I do not believe he approves of us,” Taha’Leeth said in Elven.

“No,” Stiger replied in the same tongue, “he most certainly does not.”

Stiger looked over at Garvus and got back to business. “Starting tomorrow, you and your men will begin training like legionaries. That will include not only arms drill, but fitness and conditioning as well. Captain Spatz will oversee that effort. He is an excellent soldier, with a mountain of experience, including in combat. It would do well for you to pay attention and learn from him, for if you can’t, you will be replaced with someone who can.”

Garvus swallowed and looked to Spatz and then back to Stiger. “I will do all I can, Imperator.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Stiger said. “Once the Guard is properly staffed and trained, and Spatz is satisfied, the responsibility for protection of the Temple District will be returned to your command.”

“I understand, Imperator,” Garvus said. “I will not let you down.”

“Then I will leave things in your capable hands, gentlemen.”

Both Garvus and Spatz came to attention and saluted.

Stiger turned to Camela. “I’m ready, if you are.”

“My office … this way, Imperator.” Camela led them across the worship hall to the open door just below the imperial balcony that the sequitur had gone through a few moments before.

A short hallway, lit by magical lanterns that had been hung overhead, spread out before them. Stiger and Taha’Leeth followed the High Priestess, and close behind trailed Ruga and his six men. Dog padded along with them.

They took several turns, passing a number of closed doorways, and then followed a set of stairs that led downward and deeper into the temple’s mount, where another short corridor spread out before them. Stiger had never been down and within the mount, but he understood it was a veritable warren of passageways, tunnels, and rooms.

The High Priestess led them to another corridor that ended with a wide set of oak doors. Spotting them approaching, a solitary guardsman opened one of the thick wooden doors and, stepping aside, came to attention. He too was young and fresh-faced.

Stepping through after Camela, Stiger found himself in what had clearly once been a small chapel. At the far end was a marble statue. Before the statue was a wrought iron fence that came up to waist level. Stiger recognized the image of Amarra, the first High Priestess, Karus’s wife and empress.

A thick white candle burned sullenly at the statue’s feet, just before the fence. He had seen other statues of her around the capital, but none like this one. It was the finest sculpture he’d ever set eyes upon. The statue was life-sized, breathtaking, and clearly the work of a grand master. Amarra appeared almost alive.

She wore a white dress, with the High Father’s lightning bolt emblazoned upon the right side. Confronting something or someone, Amarra stood, bold and unafraid. Gripping her spear in both hands, the point facing outward, she was clearly facing an enemy and prepared for battle. Stiger had never seen a statue look more real and for a moment marveled at its near perfection.

Camela moved deeper into the room. “It is said that Amarra was a warrior priestess.”

Stiger had heard that too, but gazing upon her now, carved in marble, noting the resolute look in her face and eyes, he could well believe it.

“That is … simply … magnificent.” Stiger gestured at the statue. He looked back at Taha’Leeth, who was also gazing upon the statue with not just interest, but fascination.

“I am told, next to the High Father’s statue in the worship hall, it is considered one of Adava’s finest works,” Camela said.

“Adava did that?” Stiger asked and could well believe it.

Camela gave a nod. “The most famous sculptor in the empire.”

Tearing his eyes from the sculpture of Amarra, Stiger glanced around the rest of the space. There was a wooden desk off to the left, with a chair and two stools that had been placed before it.

A dozen wax tablets, along with a set of old scrolls, had been stacked neatly upon the desk. A pair of couches made for sitting, not reclining, faced one another on the other side of the room. A rug lay in the center, covering the polished marble flooring.

The light in the room came from a pair of small magical chandeliers that hung overhead. Both emitted a soft, soothing, yellowish hue, giving the small space a calming feel.

“Sir,” Ruga said from the door. “Where would you like us?”

“Outside, please,” Stiger said, half turning to look at the centurion. “We won’t be long.”

“Yes, sir.” Ruga closed the door with a solid thud.

“I have begun using this old chapel as my office,” Camela said, turning to face them. “Strangely, it’s not been used in years, decades even. The night you, or really the High Father, elevated me to my current position, I could not sleep. I left the room that had been assigned to me and went exploring. When I discovered this chapel, it was coated in a thick layer of dust and filth. It had been used for storage. The Adava was covered over in a tarp. I don’t think anyone knew it was here.” Camela paused as she glanced around, her gaze coming to rest upon Amarra’s sculpture again.

“Why not just use the old High Priest’s offices?” Stiger asked as Dog went and lay down upon the thick, shaggy, patterned rug that lay at the center of the room. He knew the High Priest had a suite of offices in the administrative building. “Why have your office all the way down here?”

“I did not feel”—Camela hesitated a moment and bit her lower lip—“comfortable there. It is rather hard to explain, but it was almost like I was led here, that this was to be my place, and I was meant to find it.” She pointed at the ceiling. “Directly above is the altar and High Father’s statue. It just seemed—right.”

“That I understand,” Stiger said.

Looking about the room with interest, Taha’Leeth moved away from them and up to the statue. Careful of the candle burning upon the floor, Stiger’s wife leaned close, clearly studying the detail. “Why isn’t this statue out in the worship hall with the other statues? I would think that the proper place.”

“I don’t know. As I said, I don’t think anyone knew it was here … long forgotten, I guess.” Camela, growing grave, turned to Stiger. “So, what was this threat you mentioned?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiger admitted. “I think the High Father sent a warning, for I felt something wrong, here in the temple.”

“I did not sense anything,” Camela said.

“Neither did I.” Taha’Leeth turned to face them. “But then again, my patron is Tanithe and not the High Father.”

Camela’s gaze went to Taha’Leeth and then returned to Stiger. “I want to be clear. You are husband and wife?”

“We are,” Taha’Leeth said, walking back to them and folding her hands before her.

“Such a union is against the order of how things have been,” Camela said. “Elves and humans don’t marry. Even as a lowly priest I knew that.”

“Is there a law against it?” Stiger asked.

“Though it doesn’t quite say so, some even say the scripture prohibits it. There are many ways to interpret the holy book.”

“And how do you interpret the scripture?” Stiger asked.

Taha’Leeth touched her belly and spoke before Camela could answer. “I carry his child.”

Camela sucked in a breath. “Maybe I was wrong, but between High Born and human, I understood conception was an impossibility.”

“You are correct in your understanding,” Taha’Leeth said quietly.

“Then how?”

“Things change,” Taha’Leeth said, glancing over at Stiger. “Our gods brought us together for a purpose. Despite all that each of us has been through, I love him, and he loves me. For better or worse, we’ve joined, mated. Both of our peoples will need to accept it, as well as what’s to come.”

Camela looked between them for a long moment, before her gaze stopped upon Stiger. “You took a huge risk tonight. By midday, the entire city will know you married a nonhuman. They will be talking of nothing else for weeks to come.”

“I am no longer exactly human, myself,” Stiger countered.

“The people don’t know that, and they may not understand, not like I do.”

“Wait … you knew?” Stiger asked, surprised.

“The High Father showed me a vision,” Camela said. “Restus also told me some about you before he left.”

“He did?” Stiger knew he should not be surprised by that.

“But not the part about me being his wife?” Taha’Leeth asked curiously. “I find that interesting.”

“We spoke a little on what you have been through,” Camela said, looking at Stiger before turning her gaze back to Taha’Leeth. “But no, Father Restus did not tell me about your marriage. I think, perhaps, he wanted to leave that up to you both.” Camela closed her eyes and touched her chest with her palm. “I did so during the service, but when I reached out to the High Father and asked, I felt his approval for your union.” She opened her eyes again. “But still, announcing your marriage in such a manner is risky, for there are some who will be offended by it.”

“Like Sequitur Lassinius?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“When the High Priest left, abandoning his flock and taking the treasury with him,” Camela said, “the sequitur remained. He is one of the few that predate Magnus. Though he was given the opportunity, he refused to go. I sense faith and belief in him. It is unwavering in the extreme, very strong.”

“My wife’s question still stands,” Stiger said.

“He is of the old school,” Camela said, “a devout literalist. There are many like him. They believe in not only the purity of the scripture, but also in our race, for we are created in the High Father’s image, especially those of the empire who are descended and can trace their lineage all the way back to Rome.”

Stiger well knew the type of person. It was nearly impossible to reason with such people. They believed their version of faith was the only way and everyone else was wrong. There were several sects of literalists and even they did not agree amongst themselves. That Camela’s key advisor was a literalist was concerning.

“Such people look down upon imperials, pure bloods, who marry outsiders, foreigners,” Camela continued. “They consider it an imperfection and watering down of the blood of the righteous. So, yes, there are some like him who may become a problem … the fundamentalists as well. But I need him, for he is widely respected and has experience in church matters, especially on the administrative side. I believe, given time, he will come around.”

“I see,” Stiger said, not wholly convinced. There would undoubtedly be trouble, maybe not with the sequitur, but others. Stiger was certain of that.

“He has been invaluable these last few days, helping me navigate the turbulent waters of the church—and they are troubled. With both your and my coming, along with Magnus’s fleeing and enemies at our doorstep, the church is in a state of upheaval.”

“There is a rot within,” Stiger said plainly.

“I am aware,” Camela said heavily and glanced down at the marble flooring. “Magnus is proof enough of that. There are those of the cloth who have allowed themselves to be led astray, to be tempted.”

“The rot will have to be rooted out,” Stiger said. “And it may not be pretty.”

“I never wanted this.” Camela gestured about the chapel, her gaze coming to rest upon the statue of Amarra. “I was a simple priestess, a lowly servant of the High Father, with little hope for advancement. I was content and happy in the Laria, ministering to my flock. I don’t feel suited for all this … ”

“And I never wanted to be emperor. I did not seek my current position, nor crave it. All I desired was to serve as a soldier, and yet here we both are, servants to our faith and slaves to the empire.”

“Slaves … willing slaves … ” Camela nodded somberly, before letting out a heavy breath. She moved to her desk and sank down upon the chair, resting her arms upon the desk’s surface. “So, I was in danger this night?” she asked, looking up.

“I believe so,” Stiger said. “That’s why Captain Spatz and his company will remain when I am gone. You can trust him and his men. He is a pain in my ass, but a good man. More importantly, he loves the empire and the High Father. It is one of the few things he and I have in common, that and being a soldier and leader of men.”

Camela gave a tired nod. “And what of the Temple Guard? Clearly you do not think them sufficient or up to the task.”

“They are understrength, poorly trained and led,” Stiger said. “Garvus may look smart and well turned out, but that doesn’t make him a soldier or even, for that matter, a leader of men. He may have a good heart, but he’s no fighter and is clearly lacking in experience. If it comes to a fight, I expect his men to give a poor showing of themselves, especially amongst a determined foe.”

“I see,” Camela said.

“They’re all fresh-faced recruits. Spatz and his men are veterans, fighters, and trained killers to a man. They will work to keep you safe and help train up the Temple Guard, to a point where they can do their job adequately.”

“All right,” Camela said, leaning back and steepling her hands. “How long do you expect that to take?”

“A month at the minimum, maybe two,” Stiger said.

“That long?” Camela’s gaze went once more to the statue, almost longingly, as if she were drawing comfort and strength from its mere presence.

“There’s no way to tell for sure,” Stiger said. “At a minimum the Guard needs to be rebuilt from the bottom up. Once it is, they will then report to you, as is custom.”

“No one is to be trusted,” Taha’Leeth said emphatically. “The other night, assassins posing as palace servants made an attempt on our lives, in our own chambers. The same could happen to you.”

Camela looked over at that. “So, it is true, then, the rumors I’ve heard coming out of the palace?”

“Cyphan assassins,” Stiger said, “along with Senator Lesto’s agents. They were working together.”

“A senator was working with the enemy?” Camela shook her head in dismay. “It is hard to imagine traitors amongst us.”

“There are declared and undeclared enemies all around, and they want nothing more than our destruction,” Stiger said, “along with the advancement of their own cause, whatever that might be. Until the battle lines are fully drawn, we can ill afford to trust anyone, and maybe not even then.”

“I am new to this,” Camela said. “Just days ago, I was a simple member of the cloth. Though life in the Laria was not easy, my headaches were few, other than my ministerial duties and finding extra food for those in need. Certainly not what I have now.”

“New or not, the High Father chose you for this,” Stiger said, considering how young she was for what lay ahead, the trials she would surely face. “He selected you for a reason. You will grow into your position, much like I must grow into mine. Along the way, you will make mistakes. I have made plenty and will likely make more … but you will learn and do better. Don’t doubt that.”

Camela gave a nod. “I’ve only been at this a few days. I never imagined the faith would be so complicated. Before, my flock was small. Now it has grown.” She gave a light laugh. “You know … I have discovered I am mostly surrounded by politicians rather than fellow priests and priestesses of the faith. They all want something from me … positions, promotion in the rank … greater pay, more responsibility, a new church built, repairs made … name it … they ask, beg, and at times demand it.”

“I’ve not thought of priests as politicians,” Stiger said, with a twinge of amusement. “But I can see it now and I know how you feel. Every morning, there is a line of people waiting to see me, each wanting their own pound of flesh.”

There was a knock at the door. It swung open and Ruga looked in. “Sir, there is a priest by the name of Amelicus. He claims he serves the High Priestess and that she has an important meeting.”

“Let him in,” Camela said. “He is my chief administrative aide.”

Ruga looked to Stiger for confirmation. Stiger gave him a curt nod.

A short, rotund, and balding man wearing a rough-spun brown robe entered as Ruga stepped aside. Blinking rapidly and clasping both hands together, he stopped at seeing Stiger, along with Taha’Leeth. Recovering rapidly, he bowed respectfully to the emperor and then to the High Priestess.

“What is it?” Camela asked, her tone tinged with weariness and exhaustion.

“The representatives of the Brotherhood are waiting, mistress,” Amelicus said as he straightened. “Before he retired, the sequitur asked me to remind you.”

“I’d forgotten about the Brotherhood.”

“You agreed to meet with them right after the service for a private blessing. They did provide that generous gift for the service. I have them in the holding room, mistress.” The priest’s eyes flicked to Stiger. “Should I tell them there will be a slight delay on account of the emperor’s visit?”

“No need,” Stiger said, holding up a hand to Amelicus. “We’ve finished our business here.”

“Very well,” Camela said. “Show them in and then send for some tea. I could use a drink after singing so much. My throat is a little raw.”

“As you wish, mistress,” Amelicus said and then bowed again to the both of them before retreating and leaving the room.

“Lean on Spatz,” Stiger said. “If you need anything, send a message to the palace. We will do what we can.”

“Thank you, Imperator,” Camela said. “Your support is most appreciated.”

Stiger was about to turn away when a thought occurred to him. “Who are the Brotherhood?”

“The Brotherhood of the Faith are a small monastic order based here in the city,” Camela said. “They donated the bull that was sacrificed tonight and are known for their good works, such as helping the destitute and poor, feeding them when they are able. They’re also known for assisting the disabled, mostly veterans of the empire’s wars. I think this is because most of the monks come from the legions and are retired veterans themselves. The Brotherhood actively work to better the conditions of those who live in the Laria and for that I will eternally be grateful to them. They are a generous organization.”

“Ah, okay,” Stiger said with understanding. He’d not heard of the group before, but there were dozens of monastic groups and branches of the faith. “Till we meet again, Priestess.”

Stiger made his way to the door, where Ruga was waiting.

“Mistress.” Taha’Leeth moved up to the desk. “You have strength from within. In the days to come, be not afraid to use it. Stand upon your two feet and draw upon that inner strength.”

As if she did not know what to say to that, Camela didn’t reply but gave a nod.

“Perhaps I might call upon you in the coming days?” Taha’Leeth asked. “I would get to know you better … as a friend.” She looked to Stiger and then back to the High Priestess. “We are all in this together.”

“I would like that, for I don’t believe I have any friends left, and those I thought I had now want something from me.” Camela gave a sad chuckle before she sucked in a breath and let it out through her nose. “When you wish to visit, send a note to Amelicus and he will set time aside for the both of us. Perhaps we can enjoy tea together and a few quiet moments, yes?”

Taha’Leeth gave a respectful nod of agreement, and with that, she turned and made her way to the door, where Stiger was waiting. They stepped out into the corridor.

Not only were Ruga’s men present, but two legionaries from Spatz’s company and the guardsman who had opened the door when they’d arrived. After Dog had padded out, Taha’Leeth shut the door behind her.

“You know your duty?” Stiger asked Spatz’s men.

“Yes, sir,” both men said. They were standing to attention. One of the men was a corporal.

“Captain Spatz made our duty very clear,” the corporal said. “You can rely upon us, sir.”

“What is your name, Corporal?” Stiger asked.

“Marius, sir.”

“Very good, Marius, carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

With Taha’Leeth at his side, Stiger started down the hall. He’d done all he could here. It was time to return to the palace.

Tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, Dog gave a clipped bark and bounded ahead. Ruga and the others followed. With the exception of the guard on Camela’s door, the corridor was deserted.

Passing a side passageway, Stiger caught a glimpse farther down of Amelicus moving in their direction with three men, all in orange robes, clearly the monks of the Brotherhood. Then they were past and following the corridor.

“I like her,” Taha’Leeth said in Elven as they walked.

“She has a big job ahead of her,” Stiger said. “But I like her too.”

“Yes, and I believe I can assist her with that,” Taha’Leeth said, “at least maybe adjust her thinking some … help her become the leader she will need to be, one with strength and resolve to see unpleasant tasks through to the end.”

“A mentor?” Stiger glanced over at his wife.

“I know a little about leadership. That and a shoulder to lean on.”

“She’ll need all the support she can get,” Stiger said as they turned a bend in the corridor and started up the stairs. “She doesn’t have anyone to lean on, and I don’t think the sequitur counts.”

“Him … I do not like,” Taha’Leeth said plainly as they reached the top of the stairs and made their way down the corridor toward the worship hall. “Something about him rubs me the wrong way.”

“I don’t like him either and I think he will be a problem.” Stiger glanced over at her as they emerged into the main hall. Two legionaries had been posted before the entrance to the doorway under the imperial balcony. They both snapped to attention as the group stepped forth into the hall. Stiger stopped just past them and looked around. Ruga and his men ground to a halt.

Brightly lit, under its eternal light, much of the hall was now deserted but for a team of priests with buckets, mops, and a wheelbarrow, cleaning up after the sacrifice. Spatz and Therik were over by the exit that led back outside. They were speaking with Garvus.

Stiger turned his gaze to the statue of the High Father and studied it for a long moment. The sight of it filled him with a sense of warmth, love from his god. He felt good that Spatz was now on the job. The man was detail-oriented and focused on his duty. He would do his best to protect the High Priestess. There was no doubt about that, not in Stiger’s mind. But at the same time, Stiger was deeply unhappy.

“What is it?” Taha’Leeth asked him.

“I don’t like this,” Stiger replied, still speaking in Elven. With so many ears about, it was a way for the two of them to have a measure of privacy, especially since Eli was not around to eavesdrop.

Taha’Leeth did not reply, but instead raised an eyebrow at him. It was clear she expected him to elaborate.

“I feel like all we’re doing is reacting to the moves of our enemies,” Stiger said. “We’re dancing to their tune. In war, a struggle to the death, that is not a good thing.”

“No, it is generally not,” Taha’Leeth agreed. “Outside Vrell, you took the fight to the enemy and then again at Lorium. You claimed the empire, traveled to the capital, and seized your throne through force of arms. You killed the enemy’s agent, Handi, and now you have Mechlehnus and his army firmly on your side. He’s marching upon the Castol as we speak. You’ve done all that and so much more. Time and again, I’d say you turned the tables on the enemy and frustrated their carefully laid plans.”

“All that’s true,” Stiger said, “we’ve had some successes, but—”

“But what?”

“Nearly everything we’ve done is reactive, and I can’t help but feel we’ve been lucky so far. Tonight is the perfect example of that. Had I not decided to go to Karus’s temple … what would—could have happened?”

“I would not call it luck or being fortunate,” Taha’Leeth said. “To do so will tempt Fortuna. You should know better than that.”

Stiger’s frustration only continued to grow at her words. He made a fist and shook it lightly, not at her but the situation. “I need to change the dynamic, to seize the initiative, do something unexpected. I must get ahead of events, make the enemy dance to my tune for a change.”

“How will you do that?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“I don’t know. I—” Stiger felt himself scowl. He looked back into the corridor and cocked his ear to the side.

“What is it?” Taha’Leeth asked.

Stiger did not immediately answer but stared back the way they had come. Even Ruga had turned to look.

“Did you hear something?” Stiger, taking a step closer, asked the centurion. “I thought I heard a cry.”

“No, sir,” Ruga said. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“There it is again,” Stiger said, wondering what was making the noise. “Did you hear that? A sort of faint clunking sound this time.”

“I heard it, sir.” Ruga gave a shrug of his armored shoulders. “Sounds like someone is moving something heavy around, is all.”

At his side, Dog growled. It was deep and menacing, bloodcurdling.

As if a fist had gripped his heart, he felt a sense of tightness in his chest. The threat, the enemy—they were still in the temple. The High Priestess was in danger. He was sure of it. Before he realized what he was doing, Rarokan was in his hand, and he was charging back into the corridor.

Chapter Fifteen

Pounding down the corridor, Stiger ran for all he was worth. He came upon the stairs and turned, pushed his hand against the wall, and jumped, leaping down them in a single bound. He landed at the bottom and began running again. Ruga and his men hurried down the steps after him, their armor chinking heavily and hobnailed sandals cracking on the stone flooring.

Ahead, there was a clipped scream, followed a heartbeat later by a booming thud. Running flat out, he turned a corner and careened into the wall. The doors to the High Priestess’s office came in view. They were closed. Stiger’s heart chilled. Both of Spatz’s legionaries were down, along with the guardsman. An expanding pool of blood was forming around the bodies.

He didn’t stop running, but kept going and closing on the doors, pushing himself harder, driving himself faster. At the last moment, he threw himself forward, using his armored shoulder as a battering ram. He felt the hard impact as he slammed into the solid oak doors. There was a moment of resistance and then the lock on the door gave, snapping with a loud crack.

Both doors burst open in a resounding crash. Stiger staggered forward and almost lost his footing. He managed to catch himself at the last moment and slid, somewhat unsteadily, to a stop.

He was confronted with three men in orange robes, the monks he’d seen earlier in the side passage. All held vicious-looking daggers. Amelicus was on the ground by the door, to Stiger’s left, lying in a pool of his own blood. The man’s throat had been slit wide open, the bright white bone of his spine exposed. There was a look of surprise frozen on his face.

Camela was at the back of the small chapel. Defenseless, eyes wide and clearly terrified, she was backing up toward the metal fence that acted as a barrier before the sculpture of Amarra. The three robed men had been advancing on her. Upon the door bursting inward, the assassins had whirled around to face him.

There was a moment of silence as Stiger and the assassins stared at one another. Breathing heavily, Stiger extended his arm and pointed his flaming sword at them. “Get away from her, you bastards.”

“Kill the emperor,” one of the three snarled in response.

Before Stiger could react or any of the assassins make a move, Dog flashed by Stiger, hurtling through the air like a missile. He slammed into the man who’d snapped the order, taking him violently to the ground. The other two men took a step back and away. Snarling, Dog’s jaws clamped down powerfully onto the monk’s dagger-wielding arm. He began to scream as Dog shook his head vigorously.

Taking advantage of their shock, Stiger charged forward, aiming for the closest opponent on the left, whose gaze was fixed firmly upon Dog.

Stiger was on him before the man even realized it. He plunged his sword deep into his opponent’s robes, the blade punching easily through the stomach.

Reaching out with a hand and gripping his shoulder in a firm hold, Stiger pulled his opponent closer to him, almost as a lover would, locking gazes as he forced the blade deeper. The point of his weapon emerged from the man’s back.

Stiger felt a gush of hot wetness upon his hand, which held the sword’s grip. The look of pain and shock in the other’s gaze was plain. Stiger gave the sword a savage twist, eliciting a pain-filled grunt.

Dropping his dagger, the man cried out. Stiger yanked the sword out and stabbed again, this time into the upper stomach. With that, his opponent breathed an almost regretful sigh, one that reeked of garlic and onions. Blood frothed on his lips. His eyes rolled back as he sagged and fell off the blade and to the ground.

Turning to the next opponent, Stiger was about to advance when he froze in his tracks. Palm up, the man was holding his hand out before him. Within it was cupped a small brown glass vial.

Recognition settled over him with a chill. Stiger knew that type of vial. He knew where his own vial was, and it wasn’t on his person, as Venthus had advised. Stiger had left it in the palace. He cursed himself, for he was certain he could use it at this very moment.

The man’s fist closed tightly. There was a crunch and blood ran from between the assassin’s fingers, dripping down upon the floor. It was as if time stood still and stopped. Then the spell broke, and with it, Stiger sucked in an unhappy breath and took a step back as a heavy charcoal-gray mist began to coalesce between the monk and himself. Not quite sure what was going to happen, but fearing he already knew, Stiger took another step backward and tightened his hold upon the sword grip.

As he watched in concern and fascination, something was beginning to rapidly form within the mist. Before he could count to three, a horror beyond imagination popped into existence. It was twisted and ugly, a creature that had not been born of this world but came from somewhere else, some alien place.

Its gray skin had odd bumps and protrusions. It stood upon two legs, with seven distinct arms, and its head—which looked birdlike, though it had no feathers—almost reached the ceiling. For lack of a better word, it was a hulking monstrosity, a thing out of the worst nightmare.

As the creature turned its head to look at him, Stiger saw multiple sets of small beady, black eyes fall upon him. He knew without a doubt he was in deep, deep trouble.

He glanced around and saw Ruga and his men standing in the doorway, frozen in shock. Stiger took another step back, more to gain room than anything else.

The monster opened its black beak, revealing several rows of white, serrated teeth and a pink mouth. It gave a tortured scream, one filled with rage and, Stiger thought, quite possibly relief at finally having been released from its prison.

The scream clawed at the ears. It was otherworldly. As if stretching, the seven arms extended outward, opening wide and flexing. The monster gave off another scream, this one not as loud, as it turned and looked around the room, surveying it briefly before focusing on the one who had summoned it. Stiger thought he recognized a hunger in the creature’s eyes.

“Kill them all,” the robed man yelled hastily, pointing at Stiger and then Ruga and his men by the door. “Sevate Toe. Kill them all, beast!”

The monster turned back to Stiger, who was closest. Though he felt the desire to run, Stiger stood his ground. He felt the rage within him boil up, and it did not come from the sword. It was centered around anger at what was happening, and his own lack of thought.

Though it made him deeply uncomfortable, he should have kept the vial Venthus had given him on his person. Now he’d likely pay with his life and the lives of his men. The flames on his blade grew more intense, more violent, as the rage within mounted into a full thunderhead of towering violence.

Stiger yelled back at the monster. It was inarticulate and primal. He settled into a combat stance and sucked in a breath. “I’ve faced worse than you, you ugly cuss. Let’s dance.”

As if it could understand his words, the monster charged, arms with razor-sharp claws reaching out for him. Stiger stabbed, while hastily dodging to the side and out of the way. His sword connected with the creature, blade digging deep and into its soft flesh. He did not feel it strike any bones. He pulled the blade out and prepared to strike again. Before he could, a thick arm smashed into him, throwing him violently sideways and into the wall, where he landed hard, then slid to the floor.

Dazed and seeing spots, Stiger found himself on the ground. There was screaming and shouts all about. Blinking and tasting a copper tang in his mouth, he wondered what had happened. It took him a moment to focus, to gather his thoughts from the fog that seemed to have gripped him. His head hurt. Then memory returned in a rush, and with it, the monster issued a scream of rage.

Stiger’s head snapped up. As incredible as it seemed, Ruga and his men were battling the monster, boldly stabbing and hacking away. Dog leaped upon its back, jaws ripping and tearing. As it attempted to go after one man, another struck it from the side, stabbing his sword deep, for a moment distracting the creature. It seemed confused by the men striking at it from all quarters.

The monster screamed even louder and then turned on one man, who hastily backed up and away. Clearly enraged, it surged forward almost impossibly quickly, picking the legionary up into the air and shaking him violently as several arms tore at his armor. Stiger could hear the painful scrape of claws on metal.

The legionary gave a tortured scream before the monster threw him. He flew backward toward the door, a spray of blood on the air. He landed hard on the ground a few feet from Stiger. His armor had been torn completely open, along with his stomach and chest, right up to his sternum. His sightless eyes, impossibly wide, stared in Stiger’s direction.

Then, with sword drawn, Therik was charging into the room, roaring a battle cry in his own tongue as he came. Blade swinging in a slashing attack, he bodily slammed into the towering beast, physically knocking it back a couple of feet. The orc’s sword cleaved deeply into the monster’s side, slicing off a thick piece of flesh.

Groaning with the effort, Stiger dragged himself to his feet. Still a little dazed, he looked about for his sword and spotted it just to his right. Reaching down, he grabbed Rarokan. The moment his hand closed around the grip, time seemed to slow and stop. The light in the room grew brighter. He felt flooded with energy, alive and thoroughly awake. Rarokan was out of his cage and feeding Stiger will—not rage, but pure will.

Kill the twisted, the sword hissed in his head. Stiger thought he detected some panic. Before it kills you all … and claims me.

Claims you? Stiger thought back, confused.

It has not recognized me for what I am … yet, but it can take me back with it, when the conjuring ends. That would not be good and there would be no coming back. Everything that you and I have worked for would be for naught. You are now stronger … faster … now, kill it!

Stiger didn’t need to be told twice. He attacked, just as the monster screamed again and lashed outward, striking Therik hard in the chest and knocking him back and to the floor.

Aiming for one of the many arms, Stiger slashed downward with all his might. His sword connected where the arm met the body and cleaved clean through it.

Green and black blood spurted outward as the severed arm fell limply to the floor at his feet. The monster roared with rage and batted out at him with an arm, connecting solidly with his chest. Stiger found himself flying again. The High Priestess’s desk broke his fall. It shattered to pieces under his momentum and weight.

Groaning and looking up, he saw the creature reach back and grab Dog. As if the animal was a minor irritation, it tossed him toward the doorway.

Picking himself up again, Stiger had a flash of the High Priestess. Dagger in hand, the last robed man was advancing on her with the clear intent of murder. She had climbed over the metal fence and had backed right up to the statue. There was nowhere to go. The man started to climb over the fence. As he did, there was a deep grinding sound and movement behind Camela. The man climbing the fence froze.

Stiger shook his head, for he wasn’t sure he believed his eyes. As if it had truly come alive, the statue of Amarra seemed to be moving, straightening up and extending the spear outward. Then, as it surged forward and attacked one of Ruga’s men, the monster blocked his view. Sword in hand, Stiger turned his attention back to the summoned creature. He had to somehow kill this thing, and quickly, then save the High Priestess. How he was going to manage that, Stiger did not know.

There was a brilliant flash of light, followed by the crack of thunder, which he could feel reverberate within his chest. The floor under his feet trembled as dust cascaded down from the ceiling. A heartbeat later, a deep bell tolled.

The creature ceased its attack upon Ruga’s men and had turned to look behind it, in the direction of the High Priestess and the statue. Stiger could not see what was there or what was happening, for the monster was still blocking his view. But … he could feel a surge in will. The air seemed to crackle with the intensity of it, and it was the High Father’s power. White light began to flood the room, overpowering the soft yellow luminescence being emitted from the magical chandeliers hanging overhead.

Dog was suddenly back, leaping upon the creature’s back, snarling viciously, with jaws snapping, tearing, and ripping at the flesh, pulling away great gobs of it.

The monster did not respond, other than to shrug Dog off again. It seemed wholly fixated on what was happening where the light was coming from. While it was distracted, Stiger attacked. Hoping to hit something vital, he lunged forward, stabbing the monster deeply in the side. It did not react in the slightest.

Stiger yanked the sword out, sizzling as it burned off the monster’s green and black blood. He plunged the sword back in, stabbing deeply again. The blade went in easily enough. Therik was suddenly at his side, stabbing and slashing. Ruga was there next, stabbing as well and hacking away at the gray-skinned monster. It all seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

There was another flash of brilliant light and an audible crack.

“You have been judged,” a female voice called out. It was Camela. There was a pause. “And now, Aventotalical, it is your turn … your turn to receive the High Father’s judgment for entering our realm. Are you ready?”

With those words, the monster seemed to come back to life, shuddering violently as if in sudden fear. Dog leaped upon its back again and it shook the animal off, then shoved both Stiger and Therik roughly aside. It turned and ran with an almost shuffling gait toward the doorway.

Stiger turned and followed it with his eyes. His heart stilled. Standing in the doorway, braced and holding her sword, was Taha’Leeth. She was right in the monster’s path and the creature was picking up speed rapidly.

Though he knew he could not possibly stop the monster or, for that matter, catch it, Stiger broke into a run. As he did, the monster gave yet another bloodcurdling scream that was higher-pitched. It suddenly seemed to freeze in mid-run. There was a loud popping sound, and then it was gone, vanished into thin air, with only a thin, swirling mist hanging where it had been.

Stiger ground to a stop and stood there, staring into Taha’Leeth’s eyes with shock. Her shoulders slumped and she let go a breath. Relief flooded into him. She was no longer in danger. The summoning had reached its conclusion and the creature had gone back to where it had come from, wherever that was.

But Camela …

Turning, he saw her unharmed and standing over the last of the robed men. A spear was grasped firmly in her hand. It pulsed powerfully with an internal white light. Where the magnificent statue of Amarra had been, the Adava, a work of near perfection, now, there was nothing but shattered marble … ruined stone. Stiger felt a pang of sorrow at its destruction. Then his gaze returned to the spear. As he stared at it and Camela, Stiger found himself speechless.

“She gave it to me,” Camela said, looking up at him, her eyes impossibly wide. “She came alive. Amarra gave me what was once hers—the Spear of Atonement. I felt her and—and the High Father. They were there together, standing with me. They gave me strength, lent me their support for what needed doing, righting a wrong.”

“A miracle,” one of Ruga’s men said in awe and dropped to his knees.

“Yes,” Camela said, looking over, “it was a miracle. We were blessed this day.”

“What the fuck did we just fight?” Ruga asked loudly, drawing Stiger’s attention. He had an ugly bruise forming on his right cheek and there was a small cut on his forehead, which bled freely. The centurion’s eyes had a wild look.

Limping slightly, his fur matted and covered in the creature’s green and black blood, Dog padded up to him. Stiger reached down and rubbed the animal’s head.

“Good boy,” Stiger said, which elicited a vigorous tail wag, along with a lick. “You were a good boy.”

“What the fuck was that thing?” Ruga asked again.

“It was one of the twisted,” Stiger said heavily. “A creature pulled from another place, one made into a weapon for a war that was waged long ago and lost. Thankfully, the ability and knowledge to forge such weapons have passed and been forgotten to the mists of time. It is a creature of Lutha and Nyx.”

“Seven Levels,” Ruga breathed as he wearily sheathed his sword. “Seven bloody Levels.”

“Quite,” Stiger said, feeling battered and bruised. He had been tired and spent before the fight. Now … he felt a deep and utter exhaustion steal over him. He had not been getting regular sleep and it was beginning to tell. But then again, after a vigorous fight, he was always spent.

“I don’t care what it was. I don’t ever want to see that again, let alone face it,” Ruga added and sheathed his sword. “Honestly, sir, I think I’m starting to get too old for this shit.”

“You and me both,” Stiger said as he glanced around the room. Two of Ruga’s men were clearly dead, with another injured and cradling his arm. Swords drawn, legionaries were charging down the corridor. They were Spatz’s men. They stopped at the doorway.

“That was something I’d not care to fight again either,” Therik said, drawing Stiger’s attention. The orc’s armor was badly damaged, with several chest plates torn free. The orc had a superficial cut on his chest, which bled a stream of green blood. He moved over to one of the couches and sat down heavily. “Much worse than a mountain troll. I don’t even think it felt pain like we do.”

“Yeah.” Stiger sheathed his own sword. “They don’t feel pain as we.”

“What happened?” Spatz asked from the doorway as he pushed his way past his men. The captain stopped and surveyed the carnage within and out in the hallway. Garvus was trailing behind him.

“An assassination attempt,” Ruga said. “They tried to kill the High Priestess. She’s safe.”

Spatz’s gaze went to Camela and did a double take, his eyes widening. The spear had lost much of its luminosity, but it still glowed, pulsing occasionally with power. Stiger could feel the will contained within the staff. It was strong, incredibly so, and he had a feeling it could match that contained within Rarokan. The High Father had imparted a measure of himself within the spear. That much was apparent to him.

Stiger moved over to Camela and placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

Camela had been staring in wonder at the spear she held in her hands.

“Are you—all right?” Stiger asked again and shook her slightly to get her attention.

As if coming out of a trance, Camela gave a start and looked up at him. Then she glanced around at the carnage about them and paled considerably as realization as to what had just happened began to sink in. She suddenly started to tremble violently.

“I killed him,” Camela said, nodding toward the man on the ground. A nasty-looking serrated dagger lay next to the body. “I hit him with the spear and the High Father judged him.”

“He earned what was coming to him,” Stiger growled, understanding she’d never been around killing like this, let alone such absolute and unrestrained violence. It was something most people never encountered, especially someone who had dedicated her life to the cloth and ministering to others. “He earned it, all right, especially after using one of the twisted in the High Father’s temple.”

“He … he … was an assassin,” Camela said, seeming in shock. “Sent by the Brotherhood. I saw it all when the High Father judged him. They … they support Magnus, not me … he ordered them to kill me.”

Stiger looked at the three dead men, sprawled where they had died. “The Brotherhood will need to be dealt with.”

Her gaze went to the body at her feet. There was not a mark on the man. He appeared so peaceful, it was as if he had just lain down and gone to sleep. Her eyes returned to the spear for a long moment before meeting his gaze. Her shaking ceased. There was suddenly steel there, as was an intensity of spirit. “They have been corrupted by evil. We are to purge that from our midst, along with any others who stand in our way. The High Father has commanded it.”

Stiger gave a nod. It was yet one more thing to add to his long list of things to do. He would speak to Harananos about that. It was a job for his new spymaster to begin working at.

Camela took a breath that shuddered. She began to shake again.

“I’ve got her,” Taha’Leeth said gently as she came up. Stiger’s wife took the High Priestess’s arm. “I will get her out of here and to someplace quiet.”

“Thank you,” Stiger said. “Make sure Spatz sends some men as an escort for the two of you.”

“I will,” Taha’Leeth said.

Releasing Camela, Stiger gave a nod and watched as the High Priestess was led away and out of the room by his wife. Camela carried the spear with her. Its glow had faded completely away. The weapon now looked like an ordinary spear.

He glanced around. Two of Spatz’s men were dealing with the injured man, binding his wound with a piece of orange tunic ripped from one of the monk’s robes.

“If the arm is to be saved, he’ll need to see a surgeon,” Ruga said to the men tending the man.

“We will get him to one,” one of the men said, “just soon as we get this bound, sir.”

“I’m all right, sir,” the wounded man said, looking up at Ruga. “I’ll be fine in a few days. I don’t need to see a sawbones.”

“You will see the surgeon,” Ruga said, “and get sewed up.”

“Do I have to, sir?” The man’s tone was almost pleading. “I don’t like doctors, never have. All they want to do is cut and stitch. That hurts bloody worse than taking the actual wound.”

“I swear, Numas, you are a fucking idiot,” Ruga said, then looked at the two men tending to his injured man. “See that he sees a surgeon and gets stitched up proper-like.”

“We will, sir,” one of the men said. “We’ll even hold him down if needed.”

Eyes wide, Garvus entered the room like a man in a trance. He stopped before the body of one of the fallen legionaries, the one who had been ripped open from stomach to sternum. The captain of the Temple Guard promptly doubled over, vomiting the contents of his stomach upon the ground.

“Spatz,” Stiger called, waving for the man to join him. Spatz had knelt by one of the robed men and was examining the dagger.

“Yes, sir?” Spatz asked as he came up, still holding the dagger. It was long and serrated. “Quite a vicious weapon, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is,” Stiger agreed, eyeing it for a moment before turning his gaze back to his officer. “Everyone entering the temple complex or coming near the High Priestess is to be thoroughly searched. I don’t care who they are, no weapons are permitted and there are no exceptions. If someone has a small glass vial in their possession—I will show you an example of one later—it is a magical weapon, and a dangerous one at that. You are to carefully remove it from their person and, if they resist, kill them immediately. If broken, it will summon a monster. The only way such a vial can be broken is by crushing it in a hand and drawing blood.” Stiger made a crushing motion. “That completes the summoning.”

“The summoning? A monster?”

“You didn’t see it?” Stiger asked, looking around for the severed limb. That too had vanished. Spatz had arrived after the fight had ended. “There was one here.”

“I didn’t, sir,” Spatz said.

“The summoning usually only lasts for a count of thirty to sixty heartbeats,” Stiger explained. “After that, it goes back to wherever it came from.”

“Really?” Spatz asked with a slightly skeptical tone. “That would be worth seeing, at least once.”

“Trust me,” Therik said, drawing the captain’s gaze, “you don’t want to see it, ever. If anyone has such a vial, just kill them on the spot and then secure it.” Still sitting upon the couch, the orc began unlacing his damaged armor.

“Anyone identifying themselves as the Brotherhood are to be considered the enemy,” Stiger added. “They sided with Magnus.”

Spatz eyed the bodies and the smashed furniture, along with the shattered statue. “I will double the guard on the High Priestess and institute random patrols. Everyone wishing to enter the complex will be thoroughly searched.” The captain paused. “Some won’t like that, especially senators and rich equestrians who are accustomed to having their way, maybe even senior members of the cloth too.”

“I don’t care,” Stiger growled. “Direct them to me if they want to complain, but you search them just the same … understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Stiger looked around the room at the carnage. Again, here was one more example of dancing to his enemy’s tune … reacting instead of acting. “We definitely got lucky tonight. We may not be so fortunate the next time.”

“I will make sure it does not come to that, sir,” Spatz said in a hard tone.

“I’m counting on you to see that it doesn’t.” Stiger clapped the man firmly on the arm. “Get this mess cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir.” Spatz moved off.

Stiger moved over to the shattered sculpture. Leaning his hands upon the metal railing of the fence, he stared down at the ruin of marble and felt a pang of sadness, loss, for it had been a beautiful creation.

Nothing was recognizable, not even the larger chunks of stone. Stiger rubbed the back of his neck and let go his frustration. Once more he had beaten the odds and come out on top.

How much longer could he manage that?

Chapter Sixteen

“And where, exactly, are you taking me this morning?” Taha’Leeth asked again as they stepped through the city gate and came to a stop more than two dozen yards before a troop of cavalry. The horse soldiers were waiting outside the city gate and off to the side of the road, the Kistella Way. Cocking her head to the side, she looked over at him curiously. “Clearly we are taking a trip.”

Stiger resisted a grin and instead turned his gaze down the road, which he’d learned was primarily used by local farmers. The sky overhead was still dark, though it was becoming streaked with morning color. There were only a few stars left and not a cloud in sight. He figured they had less than an hour before the sun was properly up and over the horizon, brightening and warming the day.

In an effort to avoid any undue attention, they had left the palace early and worked their way down into the city before most had even begun to stir from their beds. He and Taha’Leeth had slipped quietly out of Mal’Zeel through one of the lesser used gates along the east wall, which was where they found themselves now.

Even at this early hour, people were arriving before the gate, with many carrying heavy packs, clearly headed to one of the numerous markets within the city to sell their wares. They had formed a line and were waiting patiently. Though the guard had opened the city’s gate for Stiger, they were not ready to admit anyone just yet.

Still, Stiger was impressed. He estimated there were at least fifty people in line. How many more were already waiting and lined up before the main city gates—hundreds, thousands?

A heavily loaded wagon, creaking noisily and pulled by a team of mules, lumbered into view. The wooden bed of the wagon was piled high with sacks of grain, all tied down with thick ropes. A faded tarp, strapped tightly over the bed, fluttered in the breeze. The teamster, a grizzled old man with weathered skin and a thick beard, pulled on the reins.

“Ho there,” the teamster called to his mules. The man slowly brought his wagon to a creaking halt, just behind another wagon waiting for the guards to open the gate to traffic and the team of inspectors, along with the city tax collectors, to arrive to assess his goods. With a grunt, the driver pulled the brake, locking the wagon in place with a heavy clunk. One of the mules began braying loudly.

Stiger eyed those waiting to gain entrance to the city. In the gloom, they looked on curiously at Stiger and Taha’Leeth, along with the legionary escort. With the hood of her cloak up, concealing her features, Stiger doubted they realized she was elven. The exquisitely made bow that was slung over her back might have been a clue, but in the low light conditions of the early morning gloom, it was unlikely to be noticed.

With the dismounted cavalry troop waited two spare mounts. Stiger was pleased to see travel packs and bedrolls had been secured to each of the spares. He had seen that the two packs—filled with supplies, gear, and a two-person tent—were sent on ahead.

“So, husband,” Taha’Leeth said, “since you did not answer, I will ask again. Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere special—as I said, this is a surprise, a treat. Think of it as a present from me to you.”

“A present? Really?”

“Yes,” Stiger said, “only, it will take some time to get there and that’s when, so to say, it will be opened or revealed. I hope you will be pleased. In fact, I suspect you will be. Actually, Eli inadvertently gave me the idea a few days back.”

“I see.” Taha’Leeth gave a slow nod. “My people are a patient race. I suppose I could wait a while longer.”

Stiger turned to Ruga, who looked none too happy. In fact, the centurion had been downright irritable from the moment he’d been told what Stiger intended. Behind Ruga waited their escort of twelve men. “I will be back tomorrow night and will meet you here, likely after sunset.”

“Tomorrow night?” Taha’Leeth asked. “We will be gone that long?”

Stiger gave a nod. “If I could spare the time, we’d be gone even longer.”

“I should be going with you, sir,” Ruga said, “especially after the assassination attempt on the High Priestess last week.”

“Where we’re going—we will be fine. Trust me on this … besides, I have a cavalry escort and a dragon, Currose, within calling distance.” There was a soft whine at his side. Stiger glanced down at Dog. “And a mangy beggar of a dog as well.” The whine grew in volume, a clear protest, which caused Stiger to chuckle. “One who’s in need of a bath too.”

“He is always in need of a bath,” Taha’Leeth said.

Brown, watery eyes gazing up Stiger, Dog hung his head low at that.

“You know what to do while I am gone?” Stiger asked the centurion.

“Though Therik is literally sitting on him, and likely eating the palace kitchen bare while he’s at it, me and my boys will protect your father,” Ruga said. “No harm will come to him.” The centurion glanced down the road and scowled. “Are you certain about this, sir? I don’t like you not taking me and my boys along.”

“I am certain.” Stiger glanced over at Taha’Leeth for a moment and shot her a wink. “Besides, once we’re there, nobody’s gonna be able to follow.”

“I wish I had your confidence, sir,” Ruga said, “but you pay me to be paranoid.”

Stiger turned and made his way over to the waiting cavalry troop a few yards off. Bow strapped to her back and carrying a bundle of arrows, Taha’Leeth went with him. The paved road had been shoveled clear of snow, but there was still a crust of residual ice upon the stones that crunched underfoot.

Dismounted, the horse soldiers were holding their reins, waiting for the order to mount up and move out. Spotting Stiger approaching, the officer in charge handed his reins to another and, limping slightly, stepped forward to meet him. He drew himself to attention and saluted.

“Captain Munger, I presume?” Stiger asked the officer, who, judging by his appearance, was a veteran of many campaigns.

“I am he, sir,” Munger replied in a gruff voice. “Bellius Taranus Munger of the First Tungarian Horse Auxiliary Cohort. We have the honor of being your escort today. Thank you for choosing us.”

Munger had a hard, no-nonsense, weather-beaten face, with a square jaw that was freshly shaved. He was older, in his late thirties, perhaps even forties. Such an age was fairly ancient for a cavalryman. Horse soldiering was tough on the body. He was also lean, with legionary armor that had seen better days but was well maintained and cared for, almost lovingly so. There were no signs of rust.

Glancing around, Stiger noted the gear of Munger’s men appeared to be in the same condition. The horses were also well cared for and looked healthy. Stiger did not smell the sour stench of saddle sores, a key indicator that horses were being overworked or had been in the field too long.

“My father has only good things to say about you and your men,” Stiger said, which was an understatement. Marcus Stiger had fairly glowed and gushed when he recommended Munger for this duty. Stiger could not ever recall his father being so effusive in his praise. Clearly the man had impressed him.

“He recently called us out of retirement, sir. We arrived a couple of weeks ago. Until that time, me and my boys were in a veterans’ colony and cooling our heels, drinking the days away with beer and wine … when we weren’t working our land, sir. But we’re happy to serve again. Honestly, for many of us, being recalled is a welcome break from the boredom of retirement, farming, and whatnot. It’s also an excuse to get away from wives, children … chores and have a chance at reliving our youth in one last campaign. There’s also the threat the empire is under. We’d be with the army right now, but I guess someone deemed us too old.”

Stiger did notice that, like their captain, Munger’s men were older. They were all clearly veterans and experienced hands.

Munger turned and offered Taha’Leeth a slight bow and then eyed Dog warily as the animal came up and sniffed at him. After a moment, the captain returned his attention to Taha’Leeth, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he peered into her hood. The dawning comprehension was plain to see as the man’s eyes widened.

“It has been a while since I’ve encountered the High Born, my lady,” Munger said. “It always has been and still is an honor to meet one of your kind.”

Taha’Leeth inclined her head slightly in reply but did not speak.

“I must confess, I’ve never heard of the First Tungarian Horse Auxiliary Cohort,” Stiger admitted, drawing the officer’s attention back to him.

“We’re a new formation, sir,” Munger said with a strong note of pride. “Tungar is our veterans’ colony, located a few hundred miles to the north. Currently, there are eighty of us old salts, broken out into two companies of forty each. We’re posted to the capital, mainly for patrol purposes, ranging out into the countryside and whatnot. We help keep order and banditry under control. It’s not exciting work, but we’re doing our part.”

“Along with providing the odd escort, obviously,” Stiger said.

Munger gave a nod. “That too, sir.”

“You did not purchase your commission, did you?” Stiger asked.

“No, sir,” Munger said. “I earned it the old-fashioned way, in battle.”

Stiger understood that Munger would have had to have performed a feat of near suicidal bravery to have achieved such a promotion. His respect for the man increased.

“Your father promoted me after the Battle of Six Trees,” Munger added as his gaze strayed back to Taha’Leeth. It seemed like something was on his mind. At least, Stiger thought so, for the man shifted his stance slightly, a speculative look upon his face.

“What is it?” Stiger asked.

Munger looked back over at Stiger. “It is not my intention to offend, but I am an old soldier, sir, and I came up from the ranks. Is it true what we’ve heard about you and ah … ?” He indicated Taha’Leeth with a hand.

“I am his wife,” Taha’Leeth said. “Will there be a problem with that?”

“No, ma’am, not at all and not a bit,” Munger said and then fixed his attention upon Stiger, as if suddenly embarrassed. “I am a client of your house and so are my men. We all served under your father. I’m just curious, sir, as to what’s what. I apologize if I gave offense. You know how rumors can be.”

Stiger did know. In fact, Harananos had informed him of several of the more salacious rumors making their way about the city. All had been terrible, the worst being that Taha’Leeth had enchanted him with her body and now the elves controlled the empire through Stiger, their proxy. There had even been a riot in the Laria over it all, with several people having lost their lives before order had been restored. It was a disagreeable situation to be sure.

Stiger’s father had been livid with him over the announcement, which he considered premature in the extreme, not to mention how he had done it … in front of the priesthood and without consulting him first.

Much of the unrest had, for the moment, settled down. That was one of the reasons why Stiger felt comfortable slipping out and leaving the city for a day. Besides doing something for his wife, he had other reasons, ones he hoped would bear fruit. He turned his attention back to the captain.

“You did not give offense. I understand and I appreciate your service to our family, even in the worst of times.” During their disgrace, remaining a client to the Stiger family could not have been easy on Munger and his men. It spoke of their character and dedication.

Stiger glanced back toward the gate. During the time they had been speaking, the line to enter the city had grown. Another wagon had arrived as well. With his hands on his hips, Ruga was watching with clear displeasure while two of the militia stood just outside the gate and kept those waiting from entering until the proper time.

“We’ve got a good way to ride.” Stiger glanced back over at the cavalry officer. “Shall we get moving, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.” Munger turned to his men. “Mount up.”

The troopers swung themselves up into the saddle. The horses, sensing they were about to be off, tossed their heads, whinnied, and pawed at the ground eagerly.

With Taha’Leeth at his side, Stiger made his way over to the two horses that had been reserved for them. He took the reins from the waiting trooper and handed one set over to Taha’Leeth, who grabbed them and then patted the mare’s neck. The horse’s ears twitched as it eyed her and then nuzzled her stomach, sniffing, as if in search for a treat.

“Your mount’s name is Misty,” the trooper said to Taha’Leeth, “and we’ve already secured your pack, ma’am. She’s a good horse and should be an easy ride.”

Taha’Leeth looked at the pack secured to the horse’s back. The tent and blankets were secured to the outside of her pack. She glanced at Stiger curiously, clearly wondering once more where he was taking her. Turning to the straps, she began checking everything over, including the tightness of the saddle to make certain there was no give or that it was loose. She gave the saddle a final good tug. It did not budge. Stiger did the same with his mount.

“Misty is a good name,” Taha’Leeth said, giving the animal another pat along the neck. Then she set about tying her bundle of arrows to the pack by a loose strap. “A good name for a good steed.”

“And mine, trooper?” Stiger asked. “What’s my horse’s name?”

“Dragon. He’s a bit feistier, sir.”

Taha’Leeth gave an amused laugh, which Stiger thought pleasant to the ear and more than welcome. He enjoyed when she laughed.

“Given your history, that is oddly appropriate, my husband,” she told him in Elven, “fitting, even. I think I might begin calling you—my dragon.”

Stiger struggled not to crack a smile. “In your delicate condition, my dear, do you require assistance? I could give you a leg up.”

“As if that will ever happen,” Taha’Leeth snorted and then grinned wolfishly at him. In a practiced manner and with a grace he could only marvel at, she swung herself up and into the saddle, rapidly settling herself in place.

Dragon sidestepped as Stiger pulled himself up and onto his mount. The animal whinnied and pawed at the ground, clearly eager to be off. It wasn’t Nomad, who was with Treim’s army marching north, but the horse was a fine mount just the same. He could feel the powerful muscles shift under him as well as the horse’s breathing.

“Where to, sir?” Munger asked, walking his horse over to him. “Where are we off to?”

“The Reserve,” Stiger said, holding the reins of his horse loosely. The horse was well-trained and he found he could control him with his legs. “Do you know where that is?”

“I do, sir,” Munger said, a troubled look passing over his face. He leaned forward in the saddle and crossed both hands over the pommel. “Are you certain you wish to go there?”

“I am,” Stiger said. “Is there a problem that I do not know of?”

“No, sir,” Munger said and then hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just that most try to avoid that place. It’s said to be cursed.”

Stiger felt himself scowl. “It’s where the Imperial Ranger Corps train.”

“That’s true, sir,” Munger admitted, “but they’re all deployed with the army, and recently, some people have turned up dead around the Reserve. They’ve been murdered.”

“Really?” Taha’Leeth asked. “Is that a fact or just another rumor?”

“I know for certain, ma’am, since we were called in to investigate and dispose of the bodies.”

“How were they killed?” Stiger asked.

“By bow and knife,” Munger said.

Stiger thought that very interesting and perhaps even a little encouraging … maybe …

“Everyone knows the Reserve is patrolled by the Corps,” Munger continued. “It is a death sentence for anyone to venture within who’s not been invited.”

“I am starting to find this place more interesting with every passing moment,” Taha’Leeth said.

“I would not call it interesting, ma’am,” Munger said. “I felt funny the closer I got to the Reserve. I don’t like going near the place and neither do my men.”

“Funny?” Taha’Leeth asked. “Explain.”

“It’s hard to describe, but it wasn’t a good feeling. It … ah … made me feel like I should leave, be somewhere else, and I was happy to oblige.”

Stiger well understood, for he had once felt it himself. Still, that did not explain the murders. Perhaps, he considered, a few retired imperial rangers had settled down in the Reserve and made the place their home? Or maybe it was something else? The more he thought on it, the less it made sense. Rangers would have disposed of the bodies, not left them to rot; at least he hoped they would.

“They were killed inside or outside the Reserve?” Stiger asked.

“We think they were killed somewhere else,” Munger said, “and their bodies moved and dumped where we found them, just outside the Reserve, sir, and off the road. It could have been someone in the city, gangs, hauling those they murdered out into the countryside. I understand it’s happened before.”

Stiger felt himself scowl as he glanced back upon the city. Local toughs likely would not have used a bow. That required some skill. Still, there were always people being murdered for one reason or another within the city. The Reserve was just close enough that someone might have left the bodies there in the hopes they’d not be found.

Still, he wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that it was impossible to enter the Reserve, or at least get very far, without being invited, and that had nothing to do with a retired ranger or two taking up residence and killing a would-be poacher or two.

“Very mysterious,” Taha’Leeth said.

Stiger decided they’d talked enough. “Let’s get moving.”

He started his horse into a slow walk, riding onto the road, where Dragon’s hooves clopped loudly against the stone paving. Taha’Leeth nudged her horse forward after him and guided Misty onto the road. She fell in at his side.

“Yes, sir,” Munger said and then called to his troopers. “Fall in, boys, column of two.”

As they made their way down the road from the gate, the troopers fell in behind them, with Munger following right after Stiger and Taha’Leeth by a few yards. It was clear he was giving them some privacy and space. Head low and sniffing at the ground, Dog padded along at their side.

The road was relatively busy, and as they moved down it, they passed several loaded wagons and carts creaking their way steadily toward the city and the markets. Multiple times, Stiger was forced to guide the cavalry column around overly large heavy freight wagons, with the teamsters eyeing the soldiers warily as they passed.

For this outing, Stiger wore his armor, but had switched out his cloak to a basic legionary red. For all intents, most saw him as just one more officer, riding at the head of a column. He did not wish to stand out and be identifiable as the emperor.

Taha’Leeth, for her part, wore a green cloak, along with her ranger’s gear. With her bow secured to her back, she stood out somewhat, but with the hood up it was difficult to see her face or hair, let alone tell her ancestry.

Seeming to crowd in from both sides, snow- and ice-covered tombs lined the road out and away from the city. They were built so close, they nearly touched. Most were ancient and crumbling ruins, a reminder of those who had come before and built the empire into what it was today.

The small column clopped past people on foot, heading in the opposite direction. Good naturedly, Stiger returned greetings and nods with many of the people they passed.

Before he realized it, the sun came up, dawning brilliant and bright, bringing with it a surprising warmth for wintertime. Stiger enjoyed the feeling of the sun’s warming touch upon his cheeks.

“It’s going to be a fine day,” Stiger said to his wife, the heavy concerns that had plagued him over the last few weeks beginning to fade somewhat. He felt relaxed, at peace, and was beginning to enjoy the ride.

“It already is,” Taha’Leeth replied, glancing over at him. “It is nice to be out of the city, away from the stench and with you, my love. This almost reminds me of the march up from Vrell to Lorium. We had a lot of time together … I miss that.”

“I do too.” Stiger could not help but agree. “When this is all said and done … the war … we will make time for ourselves.”

“I pray it be so,” Taha’Leeth said.

They rode onward, neither saying a word, just enjoying each other’s company as they rode side by side. After an hour, the traffic thinned and they found themselves in the countryside, with gently rolling hills, isolated stands of trees, and scattered farms on either side of the road.

Another hour’s travel saw not a soul on the road. Even the farms had fallen off, though they occasionally rode by a fenced-in pasture, where goats or cows dug through the snow, looking for something to eat, a bit of last summer’s grass.

“So, this Reserve?” Taha’Leeth asked in Elven, breaking the silence. “What is it?”

Stiger glanced over at his wife. “The Emperor’s Reserve was a gift to the emperor. That means, I suppose, it’s really mine, but in a way, it belongs to the empire.”

“A gift?” Taha’Leeth asked, looking over at him. “I am even more intrigued than I was a moment before.”

“It was a gift, from Eli’s people to ours. He said it was given as sort of an apology and a thank you, which does not really make much sense to me. Though he never did elaborate on that when pressed. Half the time he doesn’t mean what he says, so who knows if he was even telling the truth.”

“I see,” Taha’Leeth said.

“Not yet, but you will,” Stiger said as the road they were following started up a steep incline. He did not say any more until they reached the crest. There, Taha’Leeth pulled her horse up to a stop, her gaze fixated ahead and down the slope. Stiger found himself enjoying the moment, the anticipation of what was coming.

“A forest, and an old one too,” Taha’Leeth breathed, her eyes soaking up everything in view down the opposite side of the rise. She looked over at him in question and then gestured down the rise. “That is the Reserve?”

The forest facing them was several miles wide and stretched out into the distance for as far as the eye could see. The road they were following went right up to the tree line, which was no less than two hundred yards distant, and then came to an end. New roads branched off and moved in opposite directions, traveling along the forest’s boundary but never entering it. As far as he could see, no one was using the roads either.

“I give you the Reserve.”

“Those trees … ” Taha’Leeth’s eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze back to the Reserve and stared ahead. “A few are not native to this world.”

“Eli told me the seeds were brought from another,” Stiger said, “that they were precious and hence it was a great honor to share them with my people.”

“They are … and it is an honor, for they came from my home world, the place where I was born,” Taha’Leeth breathed and then looked over at him. Her eyes were glassy. “You brought me here, to show me this?”

“Not just to show,” Stiger said, gesturing ahead with his hand that held the reins. “We are going to spend the night within the confines of the Reserve and then most of tomorrow.”

“You have gone inside?”

“I have, with Eli. He was the one who first showed me the Reserve, got it to welcome and accept me. It was not what I expected.”

“I want to see it, to feel it, to walk amongst the trees and listen to the Great Mother’s voice. Even from here, I can sense her song, and it is a strong one, calling out to me, beseeching me.”

With that, she nudged her horse forward and back into a walk, beginning to work her way down the rise. Feeling pleased with himself, Stiger started his horse moving and rapidly caught up to her. Behind them, the cavalry escort began moving again.

After a few yards, Dog bolted forward, running for all he was worth, and plunged headlong into the forest, disappearing amongst the trees. They rode down the rise and up to the edge of the forest. It was so straight, it was as if someone had physically drawn a line to their left and right. Beyond that line, the trees and undergrowth did not grow. Stiger found that somewhat concerning, for he did not know how it had been done.

Magic perhaps?

Stiger reined his horse to a halt before a large stone monument. There were trees growing up almost to it. The writing that had been carved into and once graced its surface had been weathered away. It was now indecipherable. He wondered what it had once said.

“Captain, this is where we will leave you,” Stiger said to the cavalry officer as he swung down from his horse and dropped to the ground.

“Here? Are you sure about this, sir?” Munger asked as his eyes swept the trees. The man looked unsettled and ill at ease. So too did his men. Several were eyeing the trees with serious concern. The horses of the troop pawed at the ground, tossing their heads, with a few whinnying almost wildly. Several of the men were having difficulty keeping their mounts calm and under control. “I don’t feel good about leaving the emperor, let alone his wife, out here by himself, if you know what I mean, sir.”

“We will be fine,” Stiger assured him. “Trust me.”

Munger did not appear convinced, for he opened his mouth, clearly about to argue the point.

“You will meet us here tomorrow evening and tell no one where you left us. That’s an order. Got that?”

“Aye, sir,” Munger said after a slight hesitation. He was clearly unhappy but understood the time for argument had passed. The emperor had made up his mind and there was no higher authority in the land.

Stiger turned his gaze to the trees. So close, the smell of the forest was strong, pungent even. It looked thick, primordial, and thoroughly unspoiled. For the first time, he felt a power here. Was that the Great Mother?

When he’d last come this way, he’d not unlocked his abilities, nor had he had the sword, Rarokan, in his possession. He was now more sensitive to such things. Taha’Leeth was staring into the trees with a serious longing.

Stiger began untying the pack on the back of his horse. Taha’Leeth shook herself and then slid down to start unfastening hers. A pair of small hand axes were tied to the back of each pack, as was a canteen. He lifted his heavy pack and swung it up and onto his shoulders. Stiger took a moment to get the pack comfortable on his back and then looked over at her. “Are you ready?”

He could feel her excitement as she shrugged on her own pack.

“I am so very ready for this,” Taha’Leeth said. “Shall we go, husband? I am eager to explore this wondrous gift.”

“Be my guest.” Stiger held out his hand, indicating she should go first. With Taha’Leeth leading, they both stepped into the forest and did not look back. Stiger thought it like leaving one world and entering another. Ahead, from somewhere off in the distance, came Dog’s joyful and excited bark.

Chapter Seventeen

Though it was winter, the forest around them was alive with sound. Over the years, Eli had taught him how to listen to the tells of the forest. He was never able to fully open his senses in the way the elves did, to listen to her voice, but he did learn to hear beyond the bare branches rustling overhead with the wind, as if the trees were talking to one another in a creaking and whispered conversation.

Calling out, a moose brayed far off in the distance. Dog’s occasional bark rang out on the air. The animal was somewhere ahead and clearly enjoying himself. A woodpecker off to their left hammered away in a repeated staccato.

Beyond that, listening carefully, Stiger heard nothing out of the ordinary, no signs of anyone being out there in the woods with them. There were no prints in the snow either, other than those animals made. He knew Taha’Leeth was likely doing the same, listening, scanning the ground while they moved deeper into the trees. As a trained ranger, like Eli, she was undoubtedly better at it than he, but old habits, ones that had been drilled into him, died hard, and Stiger remained watchful, wary.

With an abundance of thorns, much of the scrub brush underfoot was prickly. Stiger found himself having to be vigilant against it. Ahead, Taha’Leeth made it seem effortless, the thorny brush never seeming to touch her or snag on her pants, tunic, or cloak as she moved around and through it.

Stiger couldn’t help but marvel at the natural grace that seemed to emanate from every elf he had ever encountered. Their fluid movements and effortless elegance were a clear testament to their ancestry, a gift that was seemingly forever beyond his reach. The difference between human and elven heritage was simply too great a bridge to cross.

Despite this realization, Stiger couldn’t help but admire their natural abilities. Their gracefulness was not just physical; it was a reflection of their culture and way of life, how they attuned themselves to nature.

As the trees became older and taller, the undergrowth thinned. Some of the trunks were incredibly wide around. Others had strange bark, almost completely white and parchment-like. These trees were skinny and tall as could be. He’d never seen anything like them.

With every step, Stiger felt himself relaxing somewhat, enjoying the moment of the two of them being alone, truly alone, for the first time in weeks and months. That was a blessing in and of itself, one he meant to savor to its fullest.

Pulling her hood back and shaking out her red hair, she glanced back at him and smiled full on, showing her teeth. It was a genuine smile, filled with enjoyment, excitement, and anticipation. The smile reminded him of a child’s, and Stiger loved seeing it, for the little girl within was emerging and he was blessed to witness it.

Taha’Leeth turned away and led Stiger through the forest. He followed, and after a half hour, she came to a stop beside an ancient tree, its massive trunk easily eight feet in circumference. Closing her eyes, she reached out her hand and placed it gently upon the gnarled bark, as if communing with the spirit of the forest itself.

Aware of the mystical connection that all elves shared with the natural world, Stiger watched in silent wonder. It was a gift that he could never hope to fully comprehend, a deeper insight into the forest and all its secrets that few humans could ever dream to grasp.

As he watched Taha’Leeth, Stiger couldn’t help but notice the delicate features of her face, the curve of her sensuous lips and the graceful arch of her nose. Her beauty was breathtaking, and he found himself drawn to her like a man called inexorably to a siren.

Caught up in the distractions of everyday life, especially now that he was emperor, there were times when he forgot to simply look. But in this moment, he couldn’t help but fix his gaze upon her. He felt his breath catch in his throat as, like a man dying of thirst, he drank in her beauty. He almost reached out to pull her to him … almost. Stiger restrained that powerful impulse, and just barely. No matter how much he wanted her close to him, he would not interrupt and spoil this moment for her.

With a deep breath, he turned his attention back to the forest, taking in the sights and sounds around him. The gentle rustling of the bare branches overhead, the distant call of a bird, and the murmur of a nearby stream. That and more all blended into a symphony of nature.

He forgot about the war, his responsibilities, and simply lost himself in the beauty of the present. And as he stood there, beside the ancient tree with Taha’Leeth, Stiger felt a sense of peace and contentment that he had not experienced in a long while.

After a time, he turned his gaze back to her. He knew how lucky, how blessed he was that she had come into his life. She was akin to a rare and precious gem, one that was his and, in all the world, perfectly unique.

Even with her eyes closed, their almond shape hinted at a depth of emotion and intelligence that stirred something within him. It was as if she hid a secret world behind those eyes, one he longed to explore.

She was a goddess brought to life, so breathtakingly perfect that at times it almost hurt to gaze upon her flawlessness. Every detail of her face was exquisitely formed, from the delicate curve of her lips to the high cheekbones that gave her a regal bearing and set her apart from everyone else, even other elves.

In that moment, he felt grateful to have her in his life. She was a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that there was still beauty and wonder in a world colored ugly by war and strife. In that perfect moment, he vowed to never take her for granted, to always cherish the time they had together, and to make sure she knew how much she meant to him.

She removed her hand from the bark of the tree. Taha’Leeth stood there for a moment more, silent, still.

“This forest is strong, healthy, untouched, pristine,” Taha’Leeth said, breathing in deeply and opening her eyes. “I love it.”

“I knew you would,” Stiger said. “It’s why I brought you.”

As she looked back at him, he could see unshed tears filling her eyes. She took a step closer. As if trying to convey something that words couldn’t express, her eyes searched his face for a long moment. Her lips parted ever so slightly, barely revealing the whites of her needle-like teeth.

The air between them was cold, and he could see the steam of her breath rising like a mist. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the space between them.

She was everything he had ever wanted, and so much more. Her outward beauty was stunning, to be sure, but it was the depth and complexity beneath the surface that truly mesmerized and fascinated him.

There was a mystery to her, a hidden world of thoughts and feelings that she kept concealed. It was as if she had built a fortress around her heart, walling it up, protecting it from the world and its many dangers. It was a fortress he’d been granted access to. And yet, despite her outward aloofness, there was a softness to her, a tenderness of the soul that few were ever privileged enough to witness.

Knowing that he was one of the fortunate ones who had been granted a glimpse into the inner workings of her heart, Stiger felt a sense of gratitude wash over him. He knew that he would do everything in his power to protect her, to keep her safe from harm, and to cherish her for all the days of his life.

As he gazed into her eyes, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. With Taha’Leeth by his side, he knew that he could face whatever the future had in store for them both.

“Thank you.” Taha’Leeth held out her hands, which he took. Despite the cold of the day, she radiated warmth. “Thank you for this wondrous gift. I had no idea such a place existed on this world, and so close to the capital of your empire. Long has it been since I walked amongst such ancient trees and felt their comforting embrace of welcome, the serenity of the old world.”

“Eli’s people planned this forest. They grew it,” Stiger said, still holding her hands. Pulling her close, he kissed her lightly, feeling and enjoying the soft and gentle touch of her lips upon his. After a moment, he drew back and glanced around at the forest about them. “He took me here once, to show me its wonders. I understand that, in the past, elves who had business in the city camped in the Reserve, rather than stay inside the confines of Mal’Zeel.”

“I can understand that,” Taha’Leeth said, releasing his hands and glancing around at the trees that surrounded them. “This place is not just a reserve, but a sanctuary. It is likely one of the reasons they grew the forest in the first place, so that they would have somewhere of their own where they could relax and be themselves.”

“I am told it was also meant as a retreat for the emperor and his family, a place to clear his head, to find balance. Though I don’t believe very many of the emperors ever availed themselves of it, other than for the occasional hunting party.”

“Until now, perhaps,” Taha’Leeth said, eyeing him.

“Yes, quite,” Stiger said with a nod. He glanced around at the nearest trees. “This is our place, our personal retreat, in a way our very own private garden … a veritable paradise in waiting. We can come here whenever we desire and be alone, be ourselves.”

“I absolutely love it. I truly do.” Taha’Leeth paused to suck in another breath. “When speaking with Munger, you mentioned the Ranger Corps. Do they come often?”

“They use this forest to train. That’s about it. The power here turns all others away, at least those who have not been invited.”

“I can feel that. All elves are welcome within the Mother’s domain.” Taha’Leeth glanced around, then turned back to him. “And what of the concerns of the empire? They cannot be ignored for long. By coming here, you turn your back upon them, no?”

“My father and brother can handle such headaches,” Stiger said with a shrug of his shoulders, “for a few hours at the very least. Besides, Currose knows where to reach us. Should the need arise, my father can find her. She is listening for the both of us.”

“She can hear us—this far away?” Taha’Leeth asked. “All the way out here? We are a long way from Mal’Zeel.”

“If I use my will, she can hear me.”

Taha’Leeth gave a nod of understanding, her gaze returning to the trees around them, the forest. She moved to another tree and held out her hand, allowing her fingertips to lightly brush against the rough bark.

“It is so peaceful here, so perfect,” Taha’Leeth said. “It soothes my heart, my hurts … my battered soul. This feels like … ”

“Like what?” Stiger asked, after she trailed off. “What does it feel like to you?”

“Something I have not known for a very long time … home,” Taha’Leeth said quietly. “This is as close to home as I’ve been, since I left.”

“Tell me more of your home.”

“I’ve told you my home world was a wonderful place,” Taha’Leeth said, a faraway look suddenly in her gaze. “When I was a girl, before the war, I used to spend days out in the forest, amongst trees just like these, exploring, hunting, playing. I had no cares, no worries at the time. It was safe. There were no threats, nothing to truly fear, not like the Horde.”

“I would have liked to have known you then.”

“There were no humans on my world,” Taha’Leeth said. “But if there had been … ”

“We would not have worked, then,” Stiger surmised.

“No,” Taha’Leeth admitted. “I was a different person, and it was another time. We would not have worked out.”

“I suppose not.”

She grinned at him. “Besides, you were not even born yet.”

“That is a very good point,” Stiger conceded almost regretfully.

“All good things come with the passage of time.” Reaching up, she cupped the side of his face with a hand. “And you came into my life at the proper moment. Trust me, that was a very good thing. Without you, my love, I would still be a slave to the Cyphan Confederacy, suffering under the punishment of my god and the heavy yoke of the masters. I would still be doing their bidding, no matter how distasteful, for such was Tanithe’s compulsion.”

As she took a breath, still cupping his face with her hand, her eyes searched his face, seeming almost to examine his very soul. Stiger did not say anything, for he knew more was coming.

“The divine had a plan for you and me—we have started down that lonely path. We have each other to provide support, strength, sustenance, and love during the difficult stretches ahead. Ben, we are mated for life, and I’d not have it any other way, not now, not ever.”

She withdrew her hand and for a moment Stiger felt bereft at the lack of personal contact between them. He sucked in a ragged breath and blew it out. It steamed on the air between them.

“Neither would I,” he managed after a moment.

“Good,” Taha’Leeth said. “For that is how it should be, no regrets, no looking back, not now, not ever.”

“No, not ever,” Stiger agreed, then gestured out farther into the forest. He felt an eagerness suddenly steal over him for what was to come. “Now for the real treat, for I have something you will wish to see. It is the centerpiece of the Reserve.”

“I am already impressed, husband. My heart beats faster at just the thought of what is next. Lead the way, for I am greatly enjoying this outing you have planned. It is rejuvenating in the extreme, a restorative like none other I have had for a very, very long time.”

Stiger glanced up at the sky, judging the direction he needed to go by the sun through the branches. He took a moment to make certain he had his bearings right. “This way.”

Taking the lead, he started off, plunging deeper into the Reserve. The farther they went, the more the forest opened before them, the trees becoming more ancient, taller, and thicker around.

The forest floor became nearly bare of brush. The ground was covered over in snow and underneath that were soft beds of moss, along with the previous season’s leaves that occasionally peeked out in patches. Stiger could smell the sour tang of rotting leaves, along with the moss. It filled his nostrils as they moved at a steady pace, eating up the ground, working their way deeper into the Reserve.

Several times they were forced to move around fallen trees, giants who ended their lives as snags. Each had, when it had come down, created an opening in the canopy, taking smaller trees with them. Around these clearings were pools of light and thick tangles of undergrowth.

The elves referred to the delicate equilibrium between life and death as the Great Cycle. This cycle not only involved death, but also represented much more, renewal and fresh growth, symbolizing the constant changes in the world around them and the balance that kept it all in order.

Despite this balance, nothing ever stayed the same, remained the way it was forever. This was the contradiction that life presented, and ultimately the lesson to be learned and accepted no matter how much one struggled against it. Given enough time, everything changed, even the very landscape, the face of the world. Nothing was constant, and the elves got to watch it all happen. The elves held the Cycle as a fundamental concept, particularly because of their long lifetimes, which forced them to endure these inevitable changes and the resulting losses, which could and would be very personal and painful.

Now that he had an uncountable number of years ahead, he supposed he would get to ultimately witness that change for himself. While others of his kind grew old and passed from the world to the next, Stiger would continue, living many more lifetimes than he had a right to expect, but such had become his lot.

Soldiers, if fortunate, could make it unscathed to retirement. But they also had to be prepared to form close relationships with people who might not survive the next fight, or battle. The dangers of being a soldier were real, and fate, Fortuna herself, often played a significant role in who lived, became injured or crippled, or, for that matter, died.

His newfound potential for a long life meant he would have to cope with broader changes than before, some of which were clearly not readily apparent. But, he supposed, it was not too dissimilar to what he’d already experienced as a soldier, because he’d left more than a few friends and comrades behind on the path of life.

And yet, what was happening—it still did not seem quite real.

Stiger felt a shift taking place within him, and it seemed to be accelerating with each passing day. At first, it had been small things that he noticed. His reflexes were sharper, his senses more acute. He found himself healing more rapidly from injury, with cuts and bruises disappearing almost overnight.

But there was more to it than that. He could feel a sense of power coursing through his veins, his soul—a strength and vitality that he had never experienced before. With each passing day, it was becoming stronger, and it was not the High Father’s power that resided within, but something different.

That encounter with the wyrm, the one he’d slain in the past, had fundamentally altered him. There was no doubt about that. Even Thoggle and Menos had not been sure what had happened when he’d taken that fearsome creature’s life force using the sword.

As near as Stiger could figure, the creature’s essence, its soul, was more than Rarokan could rapidly absorb. The balance had been taken into his own being and, as a result, it had started something within him, turning him into something new, something different, something unique. The thought of what he was changing into made Stiger feel ill at ease … but then again, there was an upside. It gave him more time with Taha’Leeth—that was, if he survived what was coming in the fight ahead.

Moving around the trunk of a large tree, they came across a squirrel, who, clearly surprised, chittered at them in outrage. The little, bushy-tailed creature had been digging in the snow, likely trying to find a nut it had hidden.

After a moment, common sense seemed to grip the squirrel and the animal’s tail gave a rapid twitch. It scurried off, leaping to the nearest tree, a giant, and climbing up around the trunk to the other side.

They continued onward. Stiger saw only the tracks of animals in the snow. Deer, rabbits, hogs … the forest was full of life. It was a refuge from hunting, for upon pain of death, no one was permitted to harvest an animal from the Reserve without direct permission.

After an hour’s travel, they took a short break to drink from their canteens. Hot from his exertions, Stiger wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, then he set down his canteen and pulled out some dried fish from his haversack. He handed Taha’Leeth a chunk before popping some in his mouth. It was tough and salty, but good. More importantly, it hit the spot.

They pushed onward.

Neither spoke as they traveled, moving through the forest, their boots crunching softly upon the snow with each and every step. There was no need to fill the air with words. They had their own personal connection. They were together and that was what mattered.

The air was clean, refreshing, nothing like in the city. Gone was the taint of civilization, the stench of waste and rot, people packed tightly together. The ever-present noise generated by the masses.

Though they spoke not, Stiger found himself thoroughly enjoying the hike with his wife, his love. The headaches of the palace and his responsibilities as emperor, as Champion, had retreated as he pushed himself, setting a good, strong pace that steadily ate up the ground.

As they trekked through the forest, the terrain began to change, gradually giving way to hills with gently rolling slopes. Stiger and Taha’Leeth climbed and descended the hills, their boots crunching on snow and leaves as they made their way deeper into the Reserve.

Then, Stiger came to what he expected to find. The undergrowth increased and the trees about them became younger, shifting from hardwood to pine. A few more yards saw them through and back out into the open, emerging upon a snow-covered stone ledge.

Taha’Leeth gasped in surprise, taking several steps past Stiger to stand at the edge of the rocky outcropping. As she gazed out over the shallow valley before them, her eyes widened in wonder. The valley stretched for at least two miles, with a frozen lake at its center.

“It is … beautiful.”

Stiger had never seen Karkrim Valley in wintertime, only in the summer. Had he tried, he could not have planned the spot where they emerged from the forest better. The ledge upon which they stood offered a magnificent view of the entirety of the valley.

Then the smell of woodsmoke hit him and he scowled. No one was supposed to be out here, within the forest. Movement to his left drew his attention.

As Taha’Leeth reached for her bow, Stiger suddenly realized they were not alone.

Chapter Eighteen

“I expected you to pay us a visit long before now, Imperator,” a soft female voice said.

Hand going for his sword hilt, Stiger swung to his right. A woman, wearing a brown hooded cloak, had emerged from the woods there. Two tall men with bows, both aimed in Stiger’s direction, stood to either side of her. Arrows were nocked, the strings pulled taut. Then realization dawned. These were not men.

They were elves.

Feeling the tension slowly leave his body, Stiger let go of the hilt of his sword and exhaled a deep breath. He turned his attention to the woman, her hands now pushing back the hood of her cloak, revealing a young, strikingly beautiful elven female who appeared no older than her early twenties.

He knew she was far older.

She wore a simple but well-made brown dress that, under the cloak, flowed around her and came down to touch snow. Her long, blonde hair was tied back into a single braid.

Although her face was almost flawlessly beautiful in the way of the elves, there was a severe quality to it and her manner that hinted at past hardships. The firm set of her jaw and cold look in her eyes lent her an air of authority and control that was both commanding and intimidating at the same time.

Stiger understood he was in the presence of a true leader, someone who had faced tough choices and had come out stronger for it. As he studied her, he couldn’t help but consider she was somewhat like Taha’Leeth, for he sensed some of the same in his wife.

For a heartbeat or two, he wondered about the struggles that this elf had faced and the sacrifices she had made to become the person she was now. It was clear that her beauty was just one aspect of her, and that she possessed a strength and resilience that had been hard-won and tested repeatedly.

She was clearly someone truly exceptional, someone who had earned her place as a leader through determination, courage, and a willingness to make difficult choices. And despite the severity of her demeanor, he found himself drawn to her, fascinated by the complexity of the person before him, for he well knew who she was and had heard much about her from Eli.

Stiger knew why she had come. He felt his heart begin to beat faster.

“Si’Cara, Elantric Warden, leader of the High Born,” Stiger said calmly. “Had I known you were here, I would have come sooner and paid my respects.”

“Bennulius Stiger, Emperor, Champion of the High Father.” Si’Cara held out her hands to the sides, as if encompassing the forest. “I welcome you to the Reserve. I thought this would be the obvious place to find us, hence why we are here.”

“You mean my Reserve,” Stiger corrected.

Si’Cara inclined her head in acknowledgement of that fact and turned her gaze to Taha’Leeth. “The Rasensa Sovereign, I take it.” Si’Cara’s lips twisted slightly in distaste. “I understand you are wife to this human, and that you have mated with him.”

Stiger wasn’t surprised she knew about their union. The elves always seemed to know everything, while divulging little. But when it came to his wife’s title, he found himself surprised. Taha’Leeth’s gaze, however, was cold as she looked back upon Si’Cara. “You have that correct. I am the Rasensa Sovereign to my people. I bear that moniker.”

“Well met, Sovereign.”

“That is yet to be determined,” Taha’Leeth said.

Si’Cara gave a simple shrug of her cloak-shrouded shoulders.

“Though I will admit, I find it heartening others of our kind made it to this world,” Taha’Leeth said, “that mine are no longer alone … ”

“As do I,” Si’Cara said. “Though it is clear yours have fallen a great way.”

“Fallen?” Taha’Leeth asked, ice in her tone. “We have had our trials and tests, yes. It was not an easy journey for us, once we left the home world, as was likely yours.”

“Easy? I think not. But unlike you, we still have our dignity intact”—Si’Cara glanced over at Stiger, her lip curling slightly—“and do not pair ourselves with humans.”

Stiger shifted his gaze back and forth between the Elantric Warden and his wife, sensing the tension that hung in the air between them. Like coiled springs, both were poised for action.

Despite the gravity of the situation, he felt a sudden urge to laugh, and he did, loudly. It felt good. As the laughter faded and left him, Stiger could see the confusion and anger etched on their faces. He laughed again at the absurdity of the situation. Really, it wasn’t the time for it, but Eli was clearly rubbing off on him.

“What, husband?” Taha’Leeth asked frostily, her eyes flashing with heat. “Pray tell me—what do you find so humorous? I would love to hear it.”

“As would I,” Si’Cara said as coldly. “Few have laughed in my face and survived the experience.”

“I did not bring you here for a pissing contest with the warden. At least, that was not my intention,” Stiger said and gave a light chuckle as the amusement struck at him again. “And as improbable as it is—yet here we are—two elven leaders of their own peoples seeing who can piss the farthest in the snow.”

Taha’Leeth’s gaze hardened.

“Pissing contest?” Si’Cara said, then gave a slow nod. “I think I understand now. If I recall, I have heard such a saying before, by one I knew well.”

“Eli?” Stiger asked curiously.

“No,” Si’Cara said, “by your first emperor, Karus.”

Stiger drew in a sharp breath, the amusement leaving him in an instant, his mind momentarily distracted by the real and tangible reminder of how long-lived elves truly were, especially the one standing before him. But then he remembered the curse that had been placed upon him. It was the same one the elves were saddled with … and it was a curse. Eli had made that plain enough.

The weight of that burden seemed to settle heavily upon his shoulders once again. He knew all too well the pain of living a life that stretched out far beyond what was natural, spanning the centuries, and the toll it could take on one’s soul.

When he’d come back forward in time, he had left behind friends, and good ones too. All had long since passed from this world and were now no more than memories. Stiger felt a stab of pain at that, as he suddenly had a flash of Theo and Brogan, both laughing as they drank the night away with him, telling tall tales by a roaring campfire.

At that moment, Stiger could sense the weight of all of his burdens pressing down, threatening to overwhelm him. But he refused to allow it to consume him, to humble him, to bend his back and knee.

He had work to do, a mission to fulfill, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of that, even sentimentality. Besides, those long years would be spent with someone he loved. With a determined exhale of breath, he squared his shoulders and focused his attention back on the present.

“I see you retrieved his armor,” Si’Cara said, gesturing at Stiger, “as was expected and foreseen.”

“He gave it to me,” Stiger said plainly.

“I imagine he did, for that is what Karus intended,” Si’Cara said. “And you bear the sword, first carried by him and originally retrieved from the Fortress of Radiance.”

Stiger’s gaze dropped to Rarokan. He patted its hilt, barely feeling the usual tingle. “Yes, I do. What of it?”

“Rarokan is a dangerous relic,” Si’Cara said. “Are you aware of that?”

“I know it well enough.”

“I was there when Karus claimed the sword,” Si’Cara said, her gaze flicking to the sheathed weapon. “Later it tried to kill him and pass itself to another.”

Stiger shifted slightly. “It tried to claim my soul on more than one occasion. The wizard trapped within has his own agenda and it doesn’t always mesh with mine.”

“The sword was always meant for you,” Si’Cara said, “or so the Oracle led me to believe. Like so many others, Karus only carried it for a time … but you … that is a different matter altogether. It was forged for you, and with it, your fate, the path you walk, will lead you to the very end.”

“I do not enjoy bearing this burden, this struggle, this fight—my fight,” Stiger said. “I never asked for it, but I have come to accept it. The sword is but one tool at my disposal … a means to a satisfactory conclusion, one of which my god will approve.”

“You speak of an empire without end,” Si’Cara said. “That is what the High Father promised Karus and Amarra. And now, you mean to bring it finally to fruition—as Champion to the High Father.”

Stiger did not immediately say anything, for he gave thought to his reply first. He looked over at Taha’Leeth and their eyes met. There was concern there, along with a deep love. He held her gaze for a long moment before turning back to Si’Cara. “I mean to preserve the empire, fulfill the High Father’s will, and protect those I care for, including my unborn child.”

Blinking rapidly, Si’Cara glanced at Taha’Leeth, then took a step closer. Her gaze grew incredibly intense as it latched onto Stiger. “Your unborn child?” The warden looked to Taha’Leeth and then back to Stiger again. “You mean with a surrogate mother?”

“He means our child,” Taha’Leeth said and placed her palm upon her belly.

“What?” One of the elven rangers with Si’Cara gasped, with an expression that could only be described as horror and shock. “That cannot be!”

Stiger’s eyes flicked between the two rangers, taking in the tense set of their bodies and the arrows that remained nocked and aimed at the two of them.

“It is as things are meant to be,” Taha’Leeth said.

As the shock of Taha’Leeth’s words began to sink in, Si’Cara stumbled back a step, mouth open, her face a mask of pure disbelief. Even the rangers seemed thoroughly taken aback by the news, their expressions showing a level of surprise and heat that Stiger had rarely seen before in elves.

He had a thought that Eli would have loved seeing their reactions. For once, Stiger was suddenly glad his friend was not with them, because Eli would have happily poked the bear that was the warden, along with the other elves.

“How is this even possible?” Si’Cara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Taha’Leeth’s expression was solemn when she spoke. “The child that grows within me is a product of our love, born of our shared bond and of our two bodies.”

As if struck by an invisible slap, Si’Cara stumbled back a step and for a moment seemed like she might collapse. The two elven rangers with her appeared just as shocked by the news, for their bows wavered. In fact, from their expressions, the news had rocked them to their core.

“How is this possible?” Si’Cara asked again, beginning to recover herself, the mask of control returning. “How can this be? It is against nature … the way of things … humans and elves cannot breed.”

“Providence of the on high has intervened,” Stiger said.

“The gods work in their own ways,” Taha’Leeth added.

Si’Cara’s gaze narrowed, and tilting her head to the side slightly, she peered closely at Stiger. The gaze was not a friendly one. Abruptly, she held forth her right hand toward him, fingers splayed outward. Stiger felt a stab of alarm and began reaching for Rarokan. The two elves with the bows, still aiming them at Stiger and Taha’Leeth, drew back the tension on their strings.

“No,” Taha’Leeth said firmly, stepping before Stiger as she held up her own hand in the same manner as the warden. “Long has it been since I called out and used the True Power of the Great Mother. The last time I did, I suffered cruelly and will likely again for turning it against a cousin, one of my own blood—but that will not stop me. I will not allow you to harm him, not now, not ever. You may be warden of your people, witch, but we tap the same power. Try it and I will take us both to a place we would rather not be.”

Her eyes upon Taha’Leeth, Si’Cara had gone still. After a moment, she lowered her hands. A look of sadness came over Si’Cara’s face. “You think I am a witch? I intend no harm. I seek only to touch his aura. You have my word on that, as one of the kin, cousin.”

“That is all?”

“That is all.”

Lowering her own arms, Taha’Leeth glanced back at him, as if searching for his approval.

“Let her do what she wants,” Stiger said. “As the High Father’s Champion, she will not harm me. She cannot afford to.”

“Are you so certain about that?” Si’Cara asked curiously as Taha’Leeth took a step aside and out of the way.

“Yes, I am,” Stiger said, “for if you do, it will ultimately see the end of your people. Once the Cyphan are done with us, they will be coming for you and yours. I think you know that, for that is why you have come to the empire and have been waiting in the Reserve for me.”

Stiger paused, his eyes going from the warden to the two elven rangers, studying them closer. In Eli’s company, he had met several rangers over the years. They’d all been aloof, with an air of self-importance and superiority, nothing like Eli’s relaxed, jovial, and teasing manner.

Stiger did not know either of them. He’d never met them before, or if he had, he just did not recall. He turned his attention back to the warden and met her gaze firmly. Mentally, he reached down to the white fire that burned sullenly within and touched it, making contact. Immediately, he felt the High Father’s calming presence wash over him. The day seemed to grow brighter, more vibrant.

“You may sense my aura. That is all I give you permission to do, Warden. Try for more at your own risk.”

Si’Cara raised her hand again, fingers splayed outward, and closed her eyes. Stiger felt no surge in power, nothing emanating from her, but he did sense something else, a connection with the High Father. It was faint, but it was there just the same, and he found it very encouraging.

The warden’s eyes flew open a moment later. She took another step backward. “You are no longer human and yet—and yet, I can taste it, as if it were carried along on a strange wind.”

“I have been changed, am still changing,” Stiger said, taking a step toward her. “I have traveled through a World Gate to the past—I believe you know this from the caretaker, yes?”

Si’Cara gave a nod. “He told me you came for Eli, to see him. I arranged for you to find him, for he was on a criminal’s trail.”

“Mik’Las,” Stiger said.

“That’s right,” the warden said. “You brought him a sword, Memory. It is a dangerous relic, from a time best forgotten.”

“I did come for him and, yes, I did bring him that sword,” Stiger confirmed, “and sometime afterward, I returned to the present. I have fought armies, faced evil beyond compare, creatures of nightmare, and even personally slain a wyrm … I have done all that and much, much more. I count a pair of noctalum as friends, along with dwarves, gnomes, and a meddlesome and maddening elven ranger. I have been blessed by my god and”—Stiger glanced over at Taha’Leeth—“hers. I have done and seen things few ever have … and yes, I’ve been altered by it all, changed greatly. But—I am still me at heart. That, the heart, is what we shall use to beat our enemies—hopefully together.”

“I thought you just blessed by the High Father,” Si’Cara said, “but clearly … ” She stopped and, sucking in a breath, looked beyond him. The warden had gone still. The blood seemed to drain from her face.

Stiger turned and saw Dog, whose watery brown eyes were fixed upon the warden. The large animal padded up to him and sat by his side, leaning his shaggy head against Stiger’s hip.

Tongue hanging out of his mouth, he whined slightly. Absently, Stiger reached down and rubbed the animal’s head and got a slimy lick for his troubles.

“That,” Si’Cara said slowly, “is not possible either.”

“It seems this is a day of impossibilities,” Stiger said.

“He is no mere dog and should not be here,” Si’Cara said. “He cannot be here.”

“I know,” Stiger said, scratching behind Dog’s ears, “and yet he is.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Stiger admitted. “He and I sort of found one another—or I guess you could say he found me—in the distant past. We have become friends. Where I go, he goes.” Stiger glanced down at the animal again. “Isn’t that so, buddy?”

Dog’s tail began wagging intensely, shifting the snow about.

“Friends?” Si’Cara said quietly as she eyed them.

“He and I have been through a great deal together,” Stiger said, still rubbing Dog’s head fondly. “We have moved through time and space, been in the neither here nor there, and seen much together. He is the best companion I could ask for and I am grateful he is with me.”

Dog’s tail began wagging more vigorously. Stiger got another slimy lick on the hand for his compliment.

“And I guess you could say,” Stiger continued, “I would not be here without him.”

The warden did not reply. She simply stared between the huge animal and Stiger.

“Are their bows really necessary?” Taha’Leeth asked. “I get tired of having bows point in our direction, being threatened.”

Si’Cara looked to the two rangers and frowned. It was as if she’d forgotten that they were there. She waved her hand dismissively. “Leave us.”

Other than relaxing the tension upon their bows and lowering them, they did not move. One of the rangers looked over at her in clear question. Si’Cara met his gaze and some silent communication seemed to pass between them.

“I will be fine,” Si’Cara said. “Now go.”

Both immediately and without question turned and strode away, disappearing into the forest. The one she’d shared the glance with stopped at the tree line and looked back before continuing. A moment later, it seemed like he was swallowed up by the forest.

“You have changed much, since I last saw you,” Si’Cara said to Stiger, drawing his attention. “You have grown, accomplished much, claimed an empire even.”

“You are referring to when Eli brought me to live amongst your people?” Stiger asked, to which Si’Cara inclined her head slightly. “I was healing, recovering from being nearly whipped to within an inch of my life. Without Eli, I would have certainly died. Heck, I wanted to die, to end it all. I had grown tired of suffering. He gave me back the will to live—to soldier on—he and the caretaker both.”

“Eli and the caretaker were why I allowed you—granted permission even—to bring you to where no other human has ever been, save for Amarra and Karus and one other,” Si’Cara said. “The caretaker may be meddlesome, but I have rarely found him wrong in his assessment of the way of things.”

“Then I owe you my thanks,” Stiger said. “Though I can’t say it was an easy time living amongst your people, for I was not welcomed with open arms.”

“No, you were not,” Si’Cara agreed.

“The experience, however, changed me, toughened me up … and ultimately made me a better person for it. Amongst my people, I was an outcast, one to be shunned. Eli gave me the strength to soldier and carry on. He is the very best of friends.”

“Eli’Far is unique amongst our people, an outlier as well,” Si’Cara said. “He is troublesome too.”

“He is definitely unique,” Stiger said, with a light chuckle. “I will give you that, but I owe him more than I can ever reasonably repay, and that goes beyond friendship in my ledger. I think he and I get along so well because he, in a way, was an outcast—well, one of his own making.”

“It may surprise you, but I too know what it is to be shunned, to be an exile, an outsider, someone who is unwanted,” Si’Cara said distantly as her gaze slid back to Taha’Leeth. “Are you certain the baby is his?”

Taking clear offense, Taha’Leeth stiffened, then relaxed a fraction. “The father can be no one other than my husband. Our child will be something new.”

“You realize what that really means, what it entails?” Si’Cara asked.

“I do,” Taha’Leeth replied, “a new beginning.”

“A new race,” Si’Cara said, her voice ringing with solemnity. “One born of both human and elvenkind, fated to inherit the best of both worlds and possibly able to breed with either race. With the birth of your child, this world will be ultimately transformed. It will become a home world, what some call a Cradle World—a realm that is inviolable, sacrosanct, uninfringeable. The struggle that plagues Istros, the Last War, shall cease being waged on this hallowed ground, for the gods themselves have forbidden such actions upon Cradle Worlds.”

“Yes,” Taha’Leeth said. “I’ve given it some thought.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw. The implications were staggering. Was that truly the end goal for the High Father and Tanithe? Were they attempting to create a new race here on Istros—to end the Last War here? Was that truly the meaning behind empire without end?

The connection he had with the High Father suddenly grew warm. Stiger had forgotten he had been holding onto it, maintaining the link with the power.

Is that it? he asked the High Father.

The connection grew briefly hotter before fading back to its regular sullen burn. It wasn’t exactly an answer, but Stiger thought he was onto something. Almost reluctantly, he let go of the connection and returned his attention to the present.

“A child from two different races.” Si’Cara shook her head. “I would never have guessed that was their plan.”

“You speak of the gods?” Stiger asked.

“I do,” Si’Cara said.

Taha’Leeth nodded in agreement and looked over at Stiger. “Fate, Fortuna, and our gods have woven a path for us to take, one which we could never have dreamed possible.”

“It is a path of which I do not approve taking,” Si’Cara said, “for it will impact my people.”

“Approve, disapprove, it does not matter,” Stiger said. “It is happening.”

“You do not fully comprehend what you are asking,” Si’Cara said, “what you require me to accept.”

“Regardless,” Stiger said, “you will accept it as the new reality, for your god demands it.”

Si’Cara did not at first reply. When she did, her tone was harsh, cold. “If I have you both killed, I will not have to accept anything.”

“That would be unwise,” Taha’Leeth said, drawing the warden’s attention. “I once transgressed against Tanithe, took the road that was not meant to be trod upon, and it did not go well for myself or my people. To transgress against both the High Father and Tanithe would be a mistake of colossal proportions. They will punish you, and severely. Surely you can see that.”

“Your enemies, when they learn of what’s coming, will see this as an opportunity to strike at you directly, Rasensa, to keep you from delivering a new race,” Si’Cara said. “They may even try to murder your baby.”

Taha’Leeth’s hand went to her belly.

“Though many thought Istros irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, they want this world, for it has a key role in the Last War,” Si’Cara continued. “Istros matters more than most believe.”

“I would not have you as an enemy as well,” Stiger said, deciding to move things along, “but as the ally the High Born have always been to my people.”

Si’Cara stared at Stiger for a long moment, then turned her attention back to Taha’Leeth. “I assume your patron is Tanithe?”

“Yours isn’t?” Taha’Leeth asked with more than a little surprise.

“She honors the High Father,” Stiger said. “I can feel it within. Her faith is strong too. Long has she been one of the flock.”

“You have will and the ability to use it,” Si’Cara said to Stiger as a statement and not a question.

“I do,” Stiger confirmed.

“Will you support our cause, cousin?” Taha’Leeth asked. “Or will you stand apart, as I understand you once chose to do? Will you abandon the empire in its hour of need, turn your back upon us?”

Si’Cara’s gaze flashed with heat and sudden anger. “You have no idea of what you speak.” The warden took a deep breath through her nose and let it out. “It was a difficult time, one which broke my people thoroughly. Had we stood our ground, we would have ceased to exist, seen our story end for all time. I could not allow that to happen.”

“I do not wish to bicker, nor waste our time,” Stiger said. “I formally call upon the alliance between the empire and the High Born. I call for the High Born’s assistance in the struggle to come.”

“We have already come,” Si’Cara snapped, gesturing to the south out toward the frozen lake.

Stiger looked at the southern end of the lake where she indicated. There he saw woodsmoke from hundreds of fires drifting above the forest. Several tents were in view, all brightly colored. More were beyond them in the forest. He could see people, looking incredibly small in the distance at the frozen lake’s edge. Some were even on the ice. It looked like they were fishing.

“Then why have you made yourself so hard to find?” Stiger said. “I could not locate your ambassador.”

“We—I did not approve of your predecessor and decided to await your coming. He made demands upon us that we were not ready to accept. Is that answer enough?”

“How many are here in the Reserve?” Stiger asked, feeling a surge of excitement course through him.

“Twenty thousand warriors and most of my rangers,” Si’Cara said. “Another seventy thousand warriors are assembling and preparing to march south from our homeland. They are also gathering sufficient supply to succor such an army. These here are but what I had available on short notice, those who were ready to march.”

“Ninety thousand elven warriors?” Stiger asked, looking over at Taha’Leeth in near shock. That was an impressive force. Knowing elves the way he did, they would be quite capable too.

“Ninety thousand, plus those sent with Tenya’Far who are, even now, marching north with your army.”

“That does not count my people,” Taha’Leeth said, “when they come north and join us. There will be many thousands.”

Stiger glanced over at his wife. After the assassination attempt, he wasn’t sure how many of her people were coming, how many had been killed and murdered by the Cyphan. He knew she wasn’t certain either. But he’d not bring it up, for he understood keenly it would cause her pain. In his eyes, she had suffered enough.

“Before you ask,” Si’Cara said, “we will not fight against the Castol, and I am sure you know they’ve come south in strength to strike at the empire.”

“Why?” Stiger asked, confused.

“Long ago, when we first came to this world, I gave my word,” Si’Cara said. “As long as they do not make themselves an enemy of my people, I will not make them an enemy of ours. Karus was fine with that arrangement, and I trust you will be as well.”

“I do not understand,” Stiger said.

“No, you wouldn’t, for you were not there. But that is irrelevant. Just know that we, the Castol and the High Born, were once allies and they too were allies of your people. But understanding matters little on this point, other than we will not cross swords with them, unless they give us cause.”

“And what of the Cyphan?” Stiger asked. “And the tribes to the West?”

“What of them?” Si’Cara arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do you have such a restriction against them as well?”

“No,” Si’Cara said, “we do not. They are as much our enemy as the Horde was. We will have no problem killing them with impunity.”

Stiger gave a nod. “So, you come to honor the alliance?”

“We do. But know this is an alliance of equals. Neither I nor my people will bend the knee to you. Just as Karus did, you will treat with us on equal terms. If that is not good enough, this alliance is at an end.”

Feeling a vast sense of relief wash over him, Stiger let go a breath. The elves would stand by him, and Stiger had no doubt the empire would be able to deal with the Castol by itself. He would see to that personally. In the end, it was the Cyphan who were the real threat. That’s where he needed the assistance.

Between Mechlehnus, the elves, and the army marching up from the south, his strength was steadily growing, and so too were his allies. But even with all that, the enemy outnumbered them.

He needed every sword, and yet there was an entire legion, along with auxiliaries, trapped to the west, at the extreme border of the empire. They were surrounded by the enemy, with no relief in sight.

He wished he could go to their aid, but he couldn’t, not yet—likely not ever. It was a disagreeable situation to be certain, but one he was incapable of changing, for the distances were too great. The only upside for the empire was that it would take time for the tribes to deal with the Felix Legion and overcome the garrison’s defenses. That would delay the tribes from marching into the heart of the empire.

“Well?” Si’Cara asked. “What say you on the matter?”

“I would not expect you to bend the knee to me,” Stiger said. “The dwarves, gnomes, and Vass don’t, let alone the dragons.”

“Vass, gnomes?” Si’Cara said in an almost contemplative tone. “And dwarves? It’s been some time since I have worked alongside such a coalition of races. I am impressed.”

Stiger gave a nod. “I thank you for coming to our aid, as an equal.”

“Your thanks is not needed, nor required. Long ago, I gave my word to Amarra. She would be pleased to know I am living up to it, and in truth, I am pleased myself—for I doubted this day would ever come.”

Dog got up and, ears flapping loudly, shook himself. He padded over to Si’Cara. Looking up at her with his brown eyes, he sat before the warden, tail wagging and pushing the snow aside.

Si’Cara reached out, hesitated a moment over his head, then placed her hand down upon him. With a trace of a smile, she rubbed the top of the animal’s shaggy head gently. Dog leaned into her and gave off a soft whine.

Stiger eyed the two for a long moment. Dog clearly approved and that was a good sign.

“I think,” Si’Cara said to Taha’Leeth, still rubbing Dog’s head, “perhaps, cousin, now we should spend some time together, get to know one another. There is also much you and I need to discuss that includes both our peoples, for surely yours now need a home. We have the ability to provide that.”

“I agree.” Taha’Leeth looked over at Stiger with an expression of sadness within her gaze, for they would part. “This will likely take several hours. You might as well find a place to make camp. I will”—she glanced over at the warden—“join you later, husband.”

Though he did not like it, Stiger gave a nod and glanced over at the warden before returning his gaze to his wife. “You will be—okay?”

“She will be perfectly safe in my company,” Si’Cara said, suddenly sounding weary. “You both will be. While you are in the confines of the Reserve, you are both under my protection. I have an entire army within this forest.”

“Right,” Stiger said and then turned to Taha’Leeth. “Leave your pack. I will camp somewhere down by the lake, near the water’s edge. You shouldn’t have a problem finding me.”

Taha’Leeth shrugged out of her pack and dropped it upon the ground at his feet.

Si’Cara turned and, with a hand, beckoned for Taha’Leeth to join her. Feeling unhappy at their parting, Stiger watched as his wife walked off with the Elantric Warden, entering the forest and vanishing from view after just a few short yards.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, Stiger noticed Dog sitting where the warden had left him. The animal, his tongue hanging out at a crazy angle, had his eyes fixed on Stiger. Before him in the snow lay a stick.

Walking over, Stiger patted the dog’s head, feeling a sense of comfort in the animal’s presence. “I guess it’s just you and me, boy.”

As if in reply, Dog looked down at the stick, then up at Stiger and snapped his jaws. Stiger bent down and picked it up. Dog looked up eagerly, his tail stilling and eyes locking onto the stick in Stiger’s hand. Stiger threw it a few yards away. Snow flying, Dog went dashing after it.

Stiger moved over to pick up his wife’s pack and slung it over a shoulder. He gazed down toward the lake, studying it for a long moment. Toward the northern side, where the elves were not camped, he spied what looked like a secluded spot, with some open terrain near the frozen lake’s edge. From here it appeared like a suitable campsite. He glanced back and saw Dog had gotten the stick and, lying in the snow, was happily chewing upon it.

Turning away, Stiger started off to work his way down to the lake.

“Dog, come.”

Chapter Nineteen

Stiger sat by the crackling campfire he had expertly built using chopped wood from dead pines, wood shavings, and branches gathered from the forest floor. He’d chosen a spot close to the lake’s snow-covered frozen edge. It offered a magnificent view that included the forested hills that surrounded the small valley.

The campfire was positioned next to a large rock that jutted out from the ground, providing a natural seat for Stiger to relax upon. He’d cleaned the rock free of snow and ice.

Behind him was the two-person tent he’d brought along. Using the hand axe, he had taken the time to construct a raised platform for the tent. For that, he’d used the trunks of small dead pine trees, which he had found and cut down nearby. This had ensured he wouldn’t have to sleep on the frozen ground. That he never much enjoyed. It was something to be avoided at all costs.

The platform was strong and level, providing a stable base for the tent to rest upon. In one of the packs, Stiger had made sure to pack an elk hide, which he’d laid over the platform. That provided a little cushioning against the logs he’d smoothed, which made sleeping more comfortable.

His preparations hadn’t stopped there. He had also constructed a fire shield out of more dead trees, carefully arranging their small trunks in a semi-circle around the campfire to direct the heat toward the rock and tent. Stiger had piled large rocks around the fire as well. That way they would absorb and continue to generate a measure of heat long after the fire died.

The work had taken him several hours. Had they been spending additional time here, Stiger would have done more. Still, it had been fun and it had been some time since he’d camped like this or made the effort to build a proper shelter and campsite, one geared for the longer term.

Years ago, with just a knife and an axe, Eli had taken great pains to teach him how to survive in the wilderness. Though it was roughshod and hastily done, Stiger was proud of his work. As a result, wrapped in heavy blankets, he had spent a relatively comfortable night in the tent, sleeping soundly without any issues from the cold air or having to lie on frozen ground. It had even snowed a little overnight and he’d hardly noticed.

The morning had dawned cold. Stiger had gotten up soon after the sun had come up and, slipping from his warm blankets, had restarted the fire. Crackling nicely, the blaze soon shed its warmth in an agreeable manner. He was comfortable, even wearing only his tunic and boots. His armor lay stacked neatly next to the tent.

Stiger glanced over at his companion. Dog was snoozing peacefully by the fire, his belly rising and falling with each gentle breath. He snored lightly, and Stiger couldn’t help but smile at the sight and sound.

Reaching over, he rummaged through his backpack and pulled out the haversack. From within, he drew forth some of the dried fish. It wasn’t the most appetizing of breakfasts, but he was hungry enough not to care. Besides, he did not feel like making porridge. He’d have to melt snow first, which took time, and then wait for the porridge to properly cook. So, he pulled out a piece and started munching on the cold, salty fish.

For a moment, he considered warming up the rest of the fish over the fire but dismissed that idea. For now, cold fish would do just fine. As he ate and warmed himself by the fire, Stiger took a moment to appreciate the quiet solitude of the morning. The valley was relatively sheltered from the wind, which he could occasionally hear blowing strongly through the trees on the hills surrounding it. At times, it sounded like an out-of-control banshee, moaning loudly in her sorrow and pain.

A bird made a call, a garish cawing sound, off in the distance. Stiger thought it sounded like a raven. He turned his gaze to the lake. The sunlight sparkling off the fresh snow was almost mesmerizing. As he chewed, Stiger shifted his gaze skyward to the white clouds scudding slowly overhead. He sucked in a breath and let it slowly out. It was a peaceful moment and setting. He was grateful to be able to experience it.

And yet, there was no one to share it with. The night had passed and Taha’Leeth had still not come to the campsite. He wasn’t overly surprised by her absence. He knew she and the warden had a lot to discuss and, in truth, had half expected he’d spend the night alone. He worried about her safety somewhat, but not overly much. What he really missed was her company, especially her warmth as he’d turned in to sleep.

So Stiger had spent the night alone, save for the company of Dog, who had slept outside the tent and next to the steadily dying fire. And now, the sun was up and Stiger was waiting for his wife’s return.

He stared into the flames and burning embers, soon becoming lost in thought. Old memories began to surface, recollections of past battles and fallen comrades, of lost opportunities and, of course, the regrets. There were always the regrets, and over the years, they piled themselves one atop another.

Tossing a stick on the fire, he felt a heaviness in his chest as he thought of the friends he had left behind. There was always a part of him that wondered if he could have done something different to save them. Stiger called these ruminations the what-ifs. They always plagued his thoughts at times like this one, when he was alone with uninterrupted time to think.

Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, trying to shake off the bad memories. He knew that dwelling on the past wouldn’t do any good, let alone help his mental state. He had to focus on the present and the future, on the task—the job before him. He glanced down at Dog, who was still sleeping away, and felt a sense of comfort in the animal’s presence.

“You have been sitting there for a good long while … doing nothing. Are you meditating?”

Stiger looked up. Across the fire was an elf. He wore chainmail armor and carried a sword belted to his side. The elf was not wearing a helmet. Stiger wasn’t surprised that an elf had emerged from the trees behind his camp to speak with him. He’d known they were out there and, despite their efforts at concealment, had spotted those watching him as he restarted his fire earlier. Stiger had expected the warden to have him watched.

But why warriors as opposed to rangers? For this elf was clearly a soldier. Had she ordered the rangers to watch him, Stiger would never have known they were there.

The elf looked to be in his twenties and had a perfectly proportioned face, with long brown hair he wore in a ponytail. Like most other elves, he was fair and attractive. However, there was something almost cruel in the other’s eyes, to the point where they seemed resentful … hateful even. Stiger did not like that. As he stared up at the elf, Stiger realized he was vaguely familiar. It took a moment to place him.

“Car—Carver’Lee, isn’t it?”

“Ah, excellent, you remember me,” the elf replied, his tone, like the lake ice, lacking any semblance of warmth. “I wasn’t sure human memory was that good.”

“I do recall you,” Stiger said sullenly and turned his gaze back to the fire. He did not need this right now.

“With fondness I trust?”

“No,” Stiger said, looking back up. He did not really feel like talking, especially to Carver. “You do not inspire fondness and never have.”

The elf shot him a closed-mouth smile that reeked of insincerity and smugness, superiority too. Carver took a step nearer the fire and held out his hands for warmth. He rubbed them together. Stiger understood Carver was putting on a show for the other elves in the woods.

“Go bother someone else,” Stiger said. “I have no wish to play games with you. Those days are past us both.”

“But I seem to recall you wanting to play games with my sister,” Carver said.

“It was she who was toying with me, and you well know that,” Stiger replied, thinking back to that unhappy time when the elven girls thought it would be amusing to place a glamour of love and lust upon him. “Let it go. That was a long time ago.”

“Not for one of the High Born,” Carver said. “It was a mere blink of an eye to me.”

Knowing the elf was not going to let it go, Stiger sucked in an unhappy breath and slowly let it out. Carver had always been like that. He was a bully and Stiger hated bullies.

“Speaking of age—my, my—you have changed much in such a short time. Why, you have grown uglier, if that is possible, more repugnant-looking. Is that some gray hair I see?”

Stiger let go a heavy breath and just shook his head as he turned his gaze back to the flames. “You are fighting a struggle you lost long ago. You just don’t know it yet, and I find that kind of sad.”

“Oh really?” Carver took another step nearer the fire. “You think so?”

Stiger looked back up at the elf’s armor and the sword he carried at his side. They were made of the finest quality and polished to a high degree, nearly works of art that sparkled and caught the sunlight in bright flashes. Wearing them, Carver was impressive, intimidating even, but not to Stiger, not anymore.

There was no doubt the elf had been trained thoroughly in his sword’s use. He was likely very good with the weapon. But still, for an elf, Carver was a youth, a little younger than Eli, and like most youths he had more fight in him than sense.

“I grow weary of this conversation,” Stiger growled. “Leave me in peace and be on your way.”

“I think not.”

“Carver, I have seen and done things you could never possibly imagine,” Stiger said quietly as he raised his eyes to the elf and met the other’s gaze again. There were more elves out there in the trees, watching and listening to what was transpiring. He raised his voice slightly for their benefit. “I have ended more lives than you will ever manage to live. If you think I can possibly be intimidated by you, well—you have made a serious mistake.”

“Have I?” Carver reached down to the hilt of his sword and gripped it, clearly prepared to draw the weapon.

There was a bone-chilling growl. Carver’s gaze snapped to Dog, who had been sleeping across the fire. The animal had stood. With teeth bared and the fur on the back of his neck standing on end, Dog was growling menacingly at Carver. Most times, the animal looked like a shaggy beggar. It was a deceiving appearance. Now, he looked the part of a killer.

“I don’t believe you have been introduced to my friend,” Stiger said. “Dog, meet Carver.”

Dog’s growl became more intense, bloodcurdling. Saliva dripped from the animal’s fangs to the snow.

“You need your pet to confront me?” Carver sneered, though he was beginning to look a little uncertain. He glanced over to the nearest trees where his compatriots were clearly hidden. Then his gaze was back upon Stiger. Carver raised his voice slightly. “Is that it? Are you lacking the courage to face me directly?”

“Oh … I don’t need him to take a pup like you down,” Stiger growled, finally, his irritation getting the better of him. “Dog has a mind of his own and he most certainly is not a pet. He is a naverum. Perhaps you have heard of them? The guardians of Olimbus?”

“You expect me to believe that bunk? You are a liar and always have been. I do not know what Eli sees in you nor why you were ever allowed into our lands and the Reserve.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Stiger said. “If you piss him off, he will kill you, and afterwards, well, you will be just one more regret on a slate filled with regrets aplenty. Though I must admit, I will sleep perfectly fine, for I have much deeper regrets than not having put you in your place years back before—”

“What is going on here?” a voice cracked like a whip.

Stiger looked over to his left and saw Taha’Leeth standing with a furious Si’Cara a few yards away from the tree line. The warden had gone red in the face. Carver immediately withdrew his hand from his sword and took a step back and away from the fire. He turned toward the warden and bowed respectfully.

“Dog, down,” Taha’Leeth commanded, for the animal had begun slowly moving around the fire, advancing upon Carver. Dog ceased his growling and obediently sat down on his haunches as the warden, leading the way, approached the fire.

“We’re just old friends, Carver and I,” Stiger said to the warden as he popped the last of the fish into his mouth and began chewing. “We were just becoming reacquainted, is all. Dog was introducing himself too.”

“I well know your history,” Si’Cara said irritably, her gaze firmly upon the elven warrior. She pointed a finger at the elf. “Your job was to watch him, not to antagonize our guest. Honestly, you are fortunate I arrived when I did. Had you tried something stupid, which I suppose, knowing you, was likely, the naverum would have killed you.”

“That really is a naverum?” Carver asked in a near gasp, his jaw opening as he looked over at Dog. The animal had padded up to Taha’Leeth in greeting. His tail wagged furiously and she scratched him almost absently behind the ears.

“Leave us, fool,” Si’Cara snapped. “I will speak with you and your superiors later.”

“Yes, Warden.” Carver looked chastened and humiliated. He gave her another bow, turned, and made a wide circuit around Dog. A moment later he was gone, having disappeared back into the trees.

Stiger glanced in the direction Carver had gone. He wondered idly if this was the end of it, or just the beginning. He thrust the thought aside and turned his gaze to the warden.

“I apologize for that,” Si’Cara said with a heavy breath.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Stiger said. “I was in no danger.”

“You would not have hurt him?” Si’Cara asked.

Stiger thought for a moment, then glanced over at Dog, who was still receiving attention from his wife. “He would never have gotten the chance to get near enough for me to even try. I doubt Dog would have done permanent damage, but you never know.” Stiger gave a shrug of his shoulders and then gestured at the naverum. “He makes his own decisions.”

Si’Cara’s gaze went to Dog as Taha’Leeth moved over to the fire and sat down upon the large rock next to Stiger. He scooted over so she had more room. Carver forgotten, his morning suddenly brightened with her presence and her proximity.

“So, how did your talk go?” Stiger asked her.

“I approve,” Si’Cara said.

“Approve of what?” Stiger asked, looking back over as Si’Cara moved to stand next to the fire. “Our marriage? If so, I did not ask nor seek your approval.”

“No, you did not, but as warden, you have it and my blessing,” Si’Cara said. “My people will fight alongside yours, but as I said, not against the Castol, for I will honor my word.”

“I thank you for that,” Stiger said. “I also understand. One’s word matters. Once you violate that, you can never be trusted again.”

“It is so.” The warden gave him a slight nod. “You are a remarkable individual. Not only are you gods blessed, but you have managed something I have only seen one other manage.”

“And what is that?” Stiger asked.

“Form a coalition of races,” Si’Cara said.

“Karus … ”

“That is correct,” Si’Cara said. “It all began with him and will end with you”—she looked from Stiger to Taha’Leeth and back again—“you both.” As if to let that sink in, she paused for a moment. “And where is Eli?”

“He is tracking down the imperial treasury,” Stiger said.

“So, it is true, the old High Priest stole your money?”

It was Stiger’s turn to give a nod.

“When he returns,” Si’Cara said, “I would like to see him. Will you send him to me?”

“Is he in some sort of trouble?” Stiger asked, warning bells going off.

“Not with me.” Si’Cara clasped both her hands together before her. “Now, I will leave you both. Please enjoy your time here.”

“You can remove the rest of your minders,” Stiger said. “We have no need of them. We originally came to the Reserve for privacy, peace, and some time alone together.”

Si’Cara looked between them again and gave a curt nod. “I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you,” Stiger said and meant it.

“Should you need us, we will be here within the Reserve. I will send word to the palace if anything changes. Is that sufficient?”

“Very.”

“When it is time to march,” Si’Cara said, “come see me.”

“Speaking of marching, when will your army start down from the north?” Stiger asked.

“Within six weeks they will be ready,” Si’Cara said. “It will take a month and a half for my army to reach your capital.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” With that, Si’Cara turned and left them, her cloak billowing slightly as she made her way toward the trees. The warden hesitated at the tree line, glanced back a moment, her expression unreadable, then stepped into the forest and was lost from view.

“Alone at last,” Stiger said after a few moments.

“Finally.” Taha’Leeth snuggled closer and laid her head upon his shoulder. “We are alone.”

They sat there for a time, enjoying each other’s company. Stiger felt comforted by her mere presence. The fire and day seemed rosier with her about. He breathed in and then out, feeling a moment of pure contentment, happiness even. Gone were the regrets and what-ifs.

“You knew they would be here,” Taha’Leeth said after a time.

“Who?” Stiger asked.

“Si’Cara and her people, their army,” Taha’Leeth said, her head still resting upon his shoulder. “That is why we really came, is it not?”

“No,” Stiger said. “I did not expect them to be in the Reserve … however, I thought the chance of encountering another elf—the ambassador, at the very least—a distinct possibility. There was a possibility I might get some answers as to where they’d all gone. Then again, I was really looking to do something nice for you, to give you a little joy and some peace—along with time away from the city. I must confess being alone with you was a serious motivating factor as well.”

“I do not like your city, towns in general,” Taha’Leeth said. “They are so dirty, filthy, and they always smell.”

“That they do,” Stiger agreed.

“Do you think after the war we can work on Mal’Zeel’s sanitation system, have it improved some?” Taha’Leeth asked. “If we are to call it home, I would have the city smell less—if such a thing is possible.”

That got a chuckle out of Stiger. “We will make it a priority. Truth be told, I do not like the city either.”

“I thought it was your home?” She picked her head up off his shoulder and looked at him curiously.

“It was,” Stiger said, “but for more years than I can count, the legion has been my real home, my place in this world. I am more comfortable sleeping on the ground and in a tent than in the palace and on a bed. You know, I slept better last night than I have in weeks, months even. This”—Stiger held out his hand, waving it about the camp he’d built—“makes me happy. This forest … it … it … ”

“It fills my heart too,” Taha’Leeth said, finishing the sentence for him.

“I know,” Stiger said. “That is why I wanted you to see the Reserve, to experience it.”

“Thank you, husband.” Taha’Leeth laid her head back upon his shoulder. “Thank you for this treat, this wonderful present.”

They fell back into silence, both watching the fire as it slowly ate away at the wood. The flames seemed to leap and dance about, with a swirling tail of smoke trailing upward and into the sky.

“What did you both talk about?” Stiger asked after a time.

“My people,” Taha’Leeth said, “the ones making their way north, to freedom. They now have a place to go, a home, if they want one.” Stiger’s wife sucked in a breath that shuddered slightly. “It is a good thing.”

“With Si’Cara’s people?” Stiger asked.

Taha’Leeth turned her gaze to the fire, staring into its depths. Her voice held a distant quality to it when she spoke. “They have that option, should they wish to take it. They will be welcomed with open arms.”

“And what was the price?” Stiger asked, for he did not like her look or the sound of her voice. “What was the price the warden wanted out of you? What did she demand?”

“That I give up my title, along with my position,” Taha’Leeth said. She hesitated a heartbeat. “I am to surrender my connection to the Great Mother, the one that channels will. The warden does not like competition or potential rivals, and I can well understand—though she has nothing to fear from me, not any longer.”

“And you agreed to this?” Stiger could not believe what he was hearing. He sat up straighter. “Seriously? That is a big ask. You’re really going to give all that up and just walk away?”

“I did,” Taha’Leeth said, turning her gaze back to him.

“How could you do that?” Stiger asked, thoroughly appalled.

“It came willingly.” Taha’Leeth placed a calming hand upon his arm. “My destiny lies along another path, the one down which we both now trek. My people are finally free, and those who choose to will make a new home, and a good one, I think. I … believe … I like Si’Cara. She and I are very much alike, too much so.”

“And what of those who choose against joining? What happens to them? What do they do?”

“The gods give all free will, a choice,” Taha’Leeth said. “They will simply walk another path.”

“I still don’t like it,” Stiger said.

“The moment Tanithe showed me the vision of you and what would be required, I knew this day would ultimately come. It was my opportunity for redemption, a chance for forgiveness, for freedom for my people, and I took it. The cost Si’Cara asked was one I was only too willing to pay. I do not regret choosing you and never will. You and I, we were destined for one another, meant for something bigger than ourselves.”

“You have given up everything for me, your people, your place. How can I ask that of you?”

“You didn’t ask it of me,” Taha’Leeth said firmly. She wrapped her arm around his and held him tight. “I did it for us. That is what really matters to me … us, and the baby. There is nothing more important.”

“But—”

“There are no more buts,” Taha’Leeth said firmly. “It is done, and I am at peace with my decision. You should be as well.”

Feeling unhappy, Stiger turned his gaze back to the fire and stared within its depths.

“I am free,” Taha’Leeth continued after a moment, “free to be with you, free to raise a family, free to be your wife and serve your people—our people. We have been given an awesome responsibility. Together, we are bringing a new life into this world, a new race, a new beginning for a people whose story has yet to be written. That is now our focus.”

Stiger did not immediately reply. He took a deep breath and let it out. “That and defeating our enemies.”

“Agreed,” Taha’Leeth said. “We defeat them and then make a better world … along with improving the sewers of Mal’Zeel.”

Stiger gave a light laugh at that, then sobered. “So, you are no longer the Rasensa Sovereign?”

She returned his gaze without blinking. “Being the sovereign is like being the emperor; it is something that is not to be enjoyed. It was always a burden, a heavy responsibility, something I loathed … but accepted, for there was no one else who could shoulder it.”

“The warden will now shoulder the burden for your people,” Stiger said.

“She will do that and more.”

“And what about being empress? How do you feel about that?”

As if she had smelled something rotten, Taha’Leeth scrunched up her nose, making a sour face. “I think that will be even less enjoyable. But then, spending the passing years with you will more than make up for that distasteful burden.”

Stiger moved his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. They kissed, long and hard. After several moments, they came up for air. Stiger felt himself suddenly short of breath as he gazed into the eyes of his wife.

“I love you,” Stiger said as he moved his hand to her cheek, “with all of my heart. By the gods above and below, I love you.”

Her eyes searched his face for a long moment. “And I you.”

They kissed again and then sat together for a time, leaning against one another, just staring into the fire as it crackled away.

“How about,” Stiger said, finally breaking the silence, “we explore the valley some? There is a small waterfall in a secluded glen that I particularly enjoy. With this cold, it must be half frozen and something to see.”

“I think I would like that,” Taha’Leeth said, then hesitated for a long moment. “Before we must go, do you think there is time for me to commune with the Mother here?”

Stiger glanced around. The elves called the forest the Mother and, according to them, each one was unique and had its own flavor, personality, or something like that. Under Eli’s tutelage and to Stiger’s intense frustration, he’d tried repeatedly to reach out to hear the forest’s voice but had never been successful. Perhaps it was because he was too impatient. At least Eli had said so.

“Part of Tanithe’s punishment was a prohibition from connecting with the forest, listening to the voice,” Taha’Leeth said. “Losing that truly hurt. When I was freed and forgiven, that ability has been gradually returning. I would like to try to make the attempt and speak with her, especially this one—for she reminds me so much of my home, the world upon which I was born.”

“We will make time, then,” Stiger said.

As he looked at her, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth wash over him. Her smile was infectious, and he found himself returning it without even thinking. It was as if the cold, harsh winter, the ice and snow around them, had melted away in an instant. In her radiant presence, the day had truly grown bright.

As she continued to smile at him, he felt himself strongly drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. It was a feeling that he couldn’t quite explain, but he knew that he never wanted it to end, to feel it always.

Taha’Leeth leaned forward and kissed him again, passionately. There was a whine close at hand. They broke apart and found Dog, sitting with his muzzle just inches from their faces. Dog’s tongue flicked out, lightning fast. Stiger hastily moved away and pointed a warning finger at the animal.

“No licking my face, ever,” Stiger said. “That’s a line we do not cross, my friend.”

That elicited another whine. Taha’Leeth leaned forward and gripped both sides of Dog’s face and scratched vigorously behind his ears. The naverum’s tail began wagging wildly, swishing the snow about. The animal’s tongue shot out again and licked Taha’Leeth’s cheek. She gave a laugh and, releasing the shaggy animal, stood.

There was a thick stick on the pile of firewood Stiger had gathered. She walked over to it and picked it up. Like a hawk spying prey, Dog’s gaze immediately seized upon the stick in her hand. His jaw opened and audibly snapped shut with a clap. She threw the stick out onto the frozen lake and the animal exploded after it, barking wildly.

She glanced over at Stiger with an eager look. “Shall we go explore the valley? I do believe I want to see your waterfall.”

“All right.” Stiger stood, then jutted his chin at Dog, who had returned, tail wagging, with the stick in mouth. “But I think someone wants to play first.”

“We can make some time for that too,” she said, “and give him some exercise.”

Tail wagging wildly, Dog set the stick down upon the ground at her feet. Taha’Leeth bent down and picked it up. Dog’s gaze became fixed upon the stick again. She threw it and he chased after it, with snow flying, out and onto the frozen lake.

“Some people are easy to please,” Stiger said, watching the animal run and scramble on the snow-covered ice.

She looked over at him. “You might be onto something, for by bringing me here you have pleased me greatly and freed me of a burden which weighed heavily upon not only my shoulders, but also my heart.”

“Did I truly do that?” Stiger asked, looking back on her.

She gave a nod, then Dog was back with the stick, dropping it at her feet.

“Come on,” Taha’Leeth said, striding off and throwing the stick for Dog to chase, “let’s enjoy the day before we must return to that smelly city.”

Chapter Twenty

Feeling thoroughly drained, Stiger lowered himself into the chair, sitting down before his desk. His wooden chair creaked in protest as it took his weight. Despite his fatigue and the late hour, the day was far from over. He still had a few hours of work remaining before he could retire for the night, and it began with his father and Harananos, who had followed him into the office. The guard closed the door behind them.

Shaped like a ship at sea, complete with oars and a sail, an ornate clay oil lamp on the desk provided the usable light within the office. That and the fireplace, which had a good fire going.

Stiger rubbed his stubbled jaw, considering the two men as they moved in front of the desk, his father positioning himself on the left and Harananos on the right. He wondered what news they had, whether it was the good kind or the bad. Despite discovering the small army of elves in the Reserve, there had been a lot of the bad lately. It seemed every passing day, a messenger arrived with news designed to darken his mood and add to the growing list of problems.

The office they were in adjoined his new personal quarters, a suite of rooms that had once been used for guests and visiting dignitaries. Stiger glanced toward the door that led to their sleeping chambers. As the hour was late, Taha’Leeth was likely already asleep. He felt a stab of disappointment, for he wanted to spend more time with her, only his duties down in the city had taken far longer than he’d anticipated.

After the assassination attempt upon their persons, they had relocated to a smaller, more easily secured section of the palace, one with few entrances and even fewer windows. The wing was older, with the finishing touches not as refined or ostentatious, almost to the point of being rough. The place was in need of a renovation, but its age and character reminded him of his family home.

The office, for the last week, had become his sanctuary, a space where he could retreat after a long day and focus on the continual stream of reports, letters, and requests that required his personal attention. It was also a space where he could meet with trusted allies in a private and intimate setting, with no others about.

His office was good-sized, square in shape, and easily ten feet from one wall to the other. The ceiling was low, which meant it kept its heat better, and of course, it had a fireplace. Its yellow flame not only added to the ambiance of the setting but also provided much needed warmth in a palace that seemed perpetually drafty and cold.

A thick rug had been placed over the tiled flooring. There was a side table, which held a jar of wine, along with several mugs. On his desk waited two stacks of tablets that included reports, messages, and letters his father had delivered while he had been out. They were all waiting to be read.

The work was very much like running a legion. Stiger was discovering there were always reports aplenty, things to be studied, absorbed, and responded to. This was especially true now, as his father was working to actively rebuild the empire’s bureaucracy.

Stiger found that in the few weeks he’d been in the capital, he’d learned more about how the empire operated and functioned than he had ever cared to know. His father had seen to that. From the mundane to the critically important, it seemed with each passing day the number of items requiring his personal attention managed to somehow grow, almost exponentially.

Sitting on the desk, next to the tablets, were three scrolls, each tied with a thin blue ribbon. That meant they had come from high level members of the government, likely governors of the provinces, requesting some form of assistance.

Tioclesion had pulled in much of the military. That had left many of the provinces with only their local militias and the odd auxiliary cohort to maintain order. It wasn’t nearly enough, and as such, law and order was beginning to break down, or so the governors had begun reporting. Finding herself under pressure from nearly all sides, the empire was coming apart at the seams.

Feeling a wave of frustration, Stiger turned his gaze to the wall to the right of his desk, where a large, detailed map of the empire hung. Stiger had found it in another room of the palace and had ordered it moved.

With a charcoal pencil, he had marked points of interest, such as the known positions of the confederacy along the coast, the progress of the Castol as they marched down from the north and into the empire, and even the Felix Legion’s garrison, Nebernacum. He’d even taken the time to note the empire’s most productive gold and silver mines.

Stiger’s gaze shifted back to the desk and the scrolls. His frustration increased, and with it, he made a fist and hammered the top of the desk lightly.

“It appears you’ve had a long day, my son,” Marcus said, the corner of his lip turning up slightly.

“It seems like all our efforts are going toward putting out fires,” Stiger growled angrily, “running from place to place and not dealing with the root of the problem.”

“We’re not really in a position to do more,” Marcus said, “at least not yet.”

“That’s what’s been bothering me.” Stiger forced the anger down. He took a calming breath. “We may never be in the position we need to be in. Our enemy has stolen that from us, and I fear we are doing exactly what they want us to do. You know as well as I do that on the battlefield, the general holding the initiative is likely the one to win. We need to do more, seize control, get the enemy jumping to our tune for a change.”

“This isn’t a simple battlefield, son. Doing what needs to get done takes time,” Marcus said. “We’re rebuilding the empire and striking back at our enemies. It doesn’t happen immediately. Did you expect anything different when you became emperor? Did you think things would be easy? I thought I taught you better than that … nothing ever done right is easy.”

Stiger felt himself scowl at his father.

“The empire has taken serious blows,” Marcus continued, “and still we fight on. We must, for there is no choice, other than letting our enemy win, and I am certain you do not wish that. Defeat is not an option. Defeat means death.”

Stiger did not reply, but recognized the reprimand for what it was, his father telling him in not so many words to deal with it, to suck it up. Stiger turned his gaze back to the map and picked out Mal’Zeel, the beating heart of the empire.

Stiger looked at his father and considered him a moment more. “Where a Stiger goes, death follows.”

Marcus’s lip twitched at that. “How was your day, son?”

Stiger took a moment to think. He had spent most of the day out and about in the city, visiting influential people, mostly equestrians. The only mildly interesting thing he’d done was take a scheduled tour of several of the freshly raised militia companies actively engaged in training. Prefect Harex, the militia commander for the city, had given him a personal tour. They had talked extensively concerning the challenges of not only securing the capital, but keeping order on the streets.

All told, he was well pleased with Harex’s progress, including the man’s recruiting efforts. The city militia now totaled some four thousand men and soon would be over seven thousand, likely within a matter of days. Most of the new recruits were refugees who’d recently come to the city in search of safety.

“To be honest, I felt my time could have been more productively spent elsewhere than meeting with a series of overfed and stuffed merchants and tradesmen.” The moment he’d uttered the words, he regretted them, for his father frowned in clear displeasure.

“I should not need to remind you, but those overfed and stuffed merchants and tradesmen are critically important to the health and functioning of the empire. They keep the goods moving, the tax revenue flowing, and much more. All of those you met today were important people, movers of the empire, individuals with influence and prestige. They specifically keep the legions supplied and in the field. Need I go on?”

“I know, I know.” Stiger held up a hand. With his mounting problems, putting himself on display and flattering egos was something he did not much enjoy doing.

“Regardless of feelings,” Marcus said, “I trust you put on a good show when you toured Lavernius’s warehouse? He is an influential man and one we need firmly on our side, particularly in the senate.”

“I put on a show—with all of them. Before I set out, you impressed upon me how important these visits were, especially Lavernius. He owns several forges, all located just outside the city. According to him, his steel is the best in the empire. No one else can compare, quality-wise.”

“I don’t know about that,” Marcus said, “but his forges manufacture most of the steel used in legionary armor, and that’s important to us, to the army. Within the next couple of months, the contracts he secured are soon to come due for renegotiation. We cannot afford an interruption in supply, not now, especially with enemies on all sides and breathing down our necks.”

“I can report,” Harananos said, speaking up and drawing both of their attention, “my agents within Lavernius’s household report the man was suitably impressed with your visit this morning, Imperator. You should consider it a job well-done.”

Harananos’s hands were clasped before his chest. He wore coarse brown robes that reached down to the floor. Like the man, they could be described as unassuming, ordinary. But that was only a blind, for Harananos was a very dangerous person.

“Lavernius was very effusive in his retelling of your visit,” the spymaster continued, “especially to his wife, about how interested you were in what he does and how his steel is manufactured. In fact, I understand his wife, Mishela, is now planning a dinner party to which they intend to invite you as the guest of honor. She believes it will be the talk of the city for months to come, and with their wealth, I would assume that a safe bet.”

“They are known for their lavish parties,” Marcus added. “You will, of course, attend.”

Stiger resisted a groan. He could not recall the last time he had gone to a party, at least the kind imperial senators held. “He did mention something about that.”

“Good,” Marcus said. “As soon as we receive the invitation, we will accept upon your behalf.”

“Perhaps,” Stiger said, “you will consent to attend as well. Misery, after all, loves company.”

Marcus did not reply. He looked over at Harananos as if a thought had occurred to him. “You have spies within his household? Really?”

“Oh yes.” Harananos turned slightly to look at Marcus, the lamplight reflecting slightly off his bald head. “I feel it imperative to keep an eye on those who make the weapons and armaments for the empire. After all, in search of some extra coin, we don’t want them supplying the wrong people, or cutting corners in what they do supply the empire with. That might prove somewhat unhealthy not only for you both, but ultimately for me as well.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Stiger conceded. “Self-preservation is a powerful thing.”

“Exactly my thinking, Imperator,” Harananos said. “I am so pleased you approve of my efforts.”

“So, is Lavernius selling to people he should not be?” Marcus asked.

“A few disreputable types, mostly involving gangs, along with some of the organized crime families that operate within the city’s confines,” Harananos admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “but no one worrisome, at least to us. Think of it more as an effort to keep them happy and from interfering with his interests. Would you like to know more on the subject, Imperator? I can go on if you would like?”

“No,” Stiger said firmly. It was not the time for such a discussion. Besides, he had a lot to do before he could catch some sleep. They were here to talk about the state of the empire, not gangs, crime families, and a senatorial family’s efforts at influence.

“I would be interested in learning more,” Marcus said. “A better understanding of the gangs and the crime families could prove useful, especially if they decide to war upon one another.”

“Beyond your current ties with the Hanti Syndicate?”

Stiger looked up at his father in surprise.

“I’m not surprised you know about that,” Marcus admitted and turned to his son. “Don’t act so shocked. You are no babe in the woods. When I need something dirty or underhanded done that cannot be traced back to our family, I use them.” Marcus turned back to Harananos. “I want to know more about the Hanti Sydicate and their leadership. If you know about my ties to them, then someone else might as well. I may wish to have them eliminated, as my son is now emperor.”

“Very well, Marcus.” Harananos unclasped his hands. “I will provide you with a series of reports on the city, the various gangs, crime families, and syndicates, the important ones at least, including the Hanti. It will cover their activities, specific interests, the extent of their operations, along with significant rivals, vendettas, and which ones are specifically in our employ.”

“We pay some of them?” Stiger asked. “The empire does?”

“Yes, we do, Imperator.” Harananos turned to Marcus. “I believe you will find the information thorough and informative, as I have made it my business to infiltrate and compromise their ranks.”

Stiger wanted to ask why, but then disregarded that thought as he stifled a yawn.

“I can’t wait,” Marcus said, rubbing his hands together as he looked over at his son. “There may be opportunities here of which we can take advantage.”

Stiger found it difficult to share his father’s enthusiasm. “It’s been an exceptionally long day. I am tired. I need sleep and must go through these reports before bed.” Stiger tapped one of the stacks of tablets with a finger. “What do you have for me?” Stiger looked to his father, hoping the meeting would be a short one. They frequently were not.

“As you already know from the reports we’ve received, Mechlehnus is making excellent progress.” Marcus gestured at the two stacks of tablets. “I’ve included an update on that—it boils down to his army having reached the northern highways along the coast. His army is now pushing hard, making their way steadily northward. Mechlehnus’s cavalry is already well ahead of the main body and, likely in less than a full week, will begin wreaking havoc on the Castol’s communications, with an eye toward cutting their supply and forcing their cavalry to chase after ours. That will deprive them of their eyes, which should allow Mechlehnus to close undetected. If I had to make a guess, I would say his main body is maybe five to six weeks from the city of Tiber and making contact with the enemy. The information we have is that the Castol are still besieging that city.”

Stiger turned his gaze to the map, eyeing the two northern roads along the coast and then Tiber. “Do we know what forces are holding that city?”

“No,” Marcus said, with a glance to Harananos. “We do not. We both believe it is being defended by militia and maybe an auxiliary cohort or two. There were several veteran colonies within a few miles of the city. It’s likely the veterans picked themselves up and, with their families, sought shelter there. They alone would provide significant backbone to any defense.”

“Tiber is a fortified city,” Stiger said, recalling his visit there with Eli years back. It wasn’t a large city, but he recalled the walls well enough. They were large and impressive, for the city had once been on the empire’s extreme northern border. “A few thousand trained men, stood up by militia and recruits, might be able to hold for some time.”

“That is our thinking as well,” Harananos said. “With luck, they will resist long enough for Mechlehnus to arrive and break the siege. There is, however, a complication.”

“Of course there is.” Stiger rubbed the back of his neck.

“The latest reports indicate the Castol have marched south with two armies.”

“Two armies?” Stiger asked.

“The second force is moving southward along the Inland Sea’s coast,” Marcus added. “They are looting and burning everything they come across. We believe their numbers between the two armies to total somewhere near two hundred thousand.”

Stiger let go an unhappy breath at that. “So, Mechlehnus will be truly outnumbered. That’s if both armies combine against him.”

“True,” Marcus said. “But if he continues to march with speed, he may be able to reach Tiber before this second army can move to support the first.”

“The second force is nearly two hundred miles from Tiber,” Harananos said.

“Two hundred miles sounds like a goodly distance, but if they become aware of Mechlehnus’s approach … ” Stiger paused, glancing down at his desk. He tapped it with a finger, then looked back up. “I assume you have alerted Mechlehnus as to what he’s marching into?”

“The messenger left first thing this morning,” Marcus said. “Word will reach him sometime tomorrow, likely in the evening.”

“The good news is,” Harananos said, “the Castol near the Inland Sea don’t seem to be in any rush and are burning and looting all the settlements and villages they come across.”

“The size of their army,” Marcus said, “won’t help them much once Mechlehnus’s cavalry goes to work. That is, if he is successful in cutting the enemy’s supply.”

“I hope so,” Stiger said. “When we engage them, I want them short on rations, their soldiers hungry … starving would be better.” Stiger sucked in a breath. “What’s the latest word on Treim’s progress?”

“The general’s army”—Marcus gestured vaguely with a hand at the map—“along with our allies are just over three weeks’ march from the capital. We’re getting daily updates from him as well. I wish he could have been here prior to Mechlehnus setting out, especially now that we know the Castol have two armies in the field—but it is what it is.”

“After the Castol are dealt with,” Stiger said, “if we can manage to combine our armies before the Cyphan get around to moving from Asti, we will have quite a potent force in the field … though we will still be heavily outnumbered.” Stiger found himself looking over at the map again, eyeing the coastal port of Asti. “They haven’t budged yet, have they?”

“According to our latest intelligence”—Marcus hesitated a moment and glanced over at Harananos, who gave a slight shake of his head—“no, they have not. Harananos and I have talked about it, but we’re not certain what they are waiting for. As you know, it might be for supply reasons. Then again, it might not be. We just don’t have enough information. When they start marching, it will take them more than a month of slogging northward over poor roads to reach the western routes, the highways that lead directly to the heart of the empire and Mal’Zeel. Then it will take them even longer to get to the capital, maybe yet another month.”

“What if they ignore the good roads and moved cross country instead?” Stiger asked, gesturing at the map. “How are the roads there? Do you know?”

“From Asti, the terrain is not suitable for taking an army as large as theirs overland—at least not easily,” Marcus said, “and especially in the middle of winter. Few of the roads in that region are paved, and with Asti just past the snow line, the ground will be wet and muddy. You know what that’s like to march through. Only the main roads will be somewhat passable, and even then, those will not hold up under significant numbers. Unless, of course, they break up their army into smaller components, but I don’t see them doing that, for it might see them destroyed in detail. No, their strength lies in their mass of numbers and bringing all they have down upon us in a single stroke.”

Stiger got up and went to the side table. He poured himself some wine and took a sip. It was smooth and of good quality, refreshing, with a hint of fruit. He looked back upon the two men. “By the time they do begin moving, the business with the Castol should be resolved and over with. I will eventually go myself, to ensure it is … concluded right.”

“We must keep in mind, Imperator,” Harananos said, diplomatically, “though we have patrols and spies watching for the confederacy’s movement from Asti, any word we do receive will be two to three weeks old, possibly even longer.”

“Meaning they could already have begun marching north,” Stiger said, “and we’d not know about it yet.”

“Correct, Imperator,” the spymaster said with a nod. “You understand the situation completely.”

Stiger took another sip from his wine and sat back down before his desk.

“When they do march,” Marcus added, “they will still outnumber us greatly. I suppose they might wish us to engage and fight the Castol and the tribes first, to wear us down, before throwing their full might against us.”

“Whittle us down like a piece of wood?” Stiger asked. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Marcus said. “Though the Castol and the tribes are their allies, any fighting between us will weaken them as well. At the end of the day, the confederacy may ultimately desire to turn on them, for either are significant threats in their own right.”

Stiger conceded that was a distinct possibility, but it did not seem like the answer as to why the Cyphan were waiting, at least a satisfactory one. So far, the confederacy had moved adeptly and with purpose against the empire, crushing multiple legions and armies, even killing Emperor Tioclesion. It was clear they had done their homework and planned exceptionally well. That they were not moving and simply sitting around Asti made him feel like a piece of the puzzle was missing. Stiger did not much like that feeling, especially since the gods were involved and this war they were fighting was not so straightforward.

“If I was in their position,” Stiger said after a long moment, “with our weakened state, I would be marching as soon as practical. I think there’s a solid chance it comes down to what we originally thought the cause of their pause—supply. Their army is huge, massively so. Moving stores and provisions up from the Narrow Sea was never really a good option. Their lines of communication were too long, and easily interdicted. They brought with them just enough supply to sustain them. Instead of relying upon extensive mule and wagon trains, they supplemented what they had by pillaging and picking the land clean as they moved.”

Stiger stood again and stepped over to the map. He pointed at Asti with a finger, touching the port city.

“They must be waiting for resupply from their fleet. Instead of pressing north to the capital, that’s why they marched to the coast. Even through foraging, they could not adequately sustain themselves, especially in the middle of winter. Our navy is on the weaker side when compared to theirs. They know this. I think it more likely they are bringing up supply by sea, before pushing on to Mal’Zeel. For whatever reason, they either don’t have enough or are just not ready.” Stiger tapped the map again. “Regardless, when they begin marching again, especially as they move north along the coast, if they resupply by sea, their communication lines from the coastal ports will be much shorter and safer than they would have been coming up from the Narrow Sea.”

“You are most likely right,” Marcus said. “In fact, I completely agree.”

“Interesting.” Harananos took a step forward, his eyes studying the map. “If you are correct in that regard, Imperator, I believe there may be an opportunity, one which we are not taking advantage of, one that involves the imperial navy.”

“Explain,” Stiger said, wanting to hear the spymaster’s thoughts.

“If we cannot match them ship for ship on the high seas, why bother to try? Perhaps our navy can begin doing something useful instead.”

“Useful?” Stiger asked curiously. He understood warfare, soldiering, fighting men in the field and on land, but not war at sea, not really. He’d been on warships several times but conceded his knowledge was rather limited when it came to the winds, tide, and how to engage the enemy on the water.

“Well, Imperator,” Harananos explained, moving over to the map and touching a city to the north, along the coast, “the imperial navy has wisely consolidated at the port cities of Certa and Omo. Between these ports, we have seventy-two ships effectively sitting the war out. They are doing nothing useful, with roughly twenty thousand sailors between them and six thousand marines.”

“From the reports I’ve read,” Stiger said, “our navy is outnumbered at least four to one, maybe even greater. Also, our sailors are not very good when compared to our enemy. Putting to sea to engage the confederacy’s navy would be a losing proposition, and that doesn’t even take into account their wyrms.”

“Correct,” Harananos said, “and I believe that knowledge concerning the enemy’s maritime superiority is rather freeing.”

“Freeing? I’m not following,” Stiger admitted. “Are you suggesting we abandon the fleet and turn the navy’s personnel all into infantry? If you are, sailors are known for making notoriously bad infantry, even worse than militia. Marching long distances tends to be an issue. The marines we can likely use, though.” Stiger looked to his father, who gave a nod.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marcus said. “I’ve considered recommending just that, but hesitated in the event we end up finding something better for the navy to do. They might even be able to link up with Mechlehnus’s army and add to his strength before he engages the enemy.”

“Unfortunately, that is not quite where I’m headed, Imperator,” Harananos said. “It is my personal belief we should put the navy to sea, where they can find a more practical purpose.”

“To sea?” Marcus asked. “Our navy is badly outnumbered. I think we can all agree on that.”

“They are outmatched, yes,” Harananos said, “there is no doubt about that fact. The Cyphan are also better mariners.” The spymaster held up a finger and wagged it slightly. “However, we might consider employing our navy in a manner that does not see them in a major engagement where they might take significant losses. I believe you infantry types might call what I am thinking ‘irregular warfare’.”

“Avoid a large-scale sea battle?” Marcus asked. “I think I am beginning to like what you are suggesting.”

The spymaster gave a nod. “I personally feel our navy would be better employed in harassing confederacy shipping, preying upon their supply transports, raiding isolated posts—hit-and-run tactics, I believe you call them. A pitched battle should be avoided at all costs, for the enemy’s strength and overwhelming numbers will surely see us crushed.”

Stiger sat back down and leaned back in his chair, which caused it to creak again. He found himself liking the idea as well. Raising an eyebrow, he looked to his father in an inquiring manner. “What do you think? Is our fleet even capable of pulling something like that off?”

“The idea has serious merit and could potentially cause the enemy a few headaches, complicate their supply issues some, maybe even a lot,” Marcus admitted, looking over at Harananos with a speculative expression. “The navy’s not doing anything helpful as it is. If they operate in small squadrons or even independently, your idea may just work. At the very least, I don’t think it could hurt any.”

“All right,” Stiger said. “Who is the prefect in charge of the fleet? Do we know him?”

“Hantres Pissarro Ascarti,” Marcus said, “and we received word last week from him proclaiming his loyalty to you, quite strongly too. That said, his family has never been overly friendly to ours. But they are not an outright enemy either.”

“What do you know of him? Can he be trusted?” Stiger asked his spymaster.

“Trusted?” Harananos barked out a laugh. “Of course not. He is a noble of the empire, after all. Relied upon to get the job done, maybe … if he sees advantage in it for himself.”

“What are you thinking?” Stiger asked.

“Ascarti can easily be bought, and the beauty is, we don’t have to pay anything out of pocket. We just incentivize him. You see, he and his wife have a fondness for nice things, very nice things. More importantly, he leveraged himself and his house heavily to purchase the commission he now holds.”

“He’s in debt.” Marcus snapped his fingers. “The senate’s fee for fleet command is a hefty one.”

“Correct,” Harananos said, “to the tune of ten million gold talons.”

Stiger whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”

“It is, indeed, Imperator,” Harananos said. “Should your orders include an addendum that mentions he can personally keep an additional twenty-five percent of what he seizes in treasure, slaves, supplies, ships taken … you might find him a little more—how to say it—properly motivated in carrying out his duties, eager even.”

“What is the normal split?” Stiger asked.

“Twenty-five percent gets divided between the prefect, captains, and crews, with the largest share going to the prefect in command of the fleet. The rest goes to the imperial treasury. If you are a bit more generous, especially when it comes to Ascarti himself, we might see some tangible results that … contribute to the war effort.”

Stiger nodded. “Let’s sweeten the deal. Fifty percent will go to the empire and the rest to the prefect, captains, and crew. Ascarti can keep his twenty-five percent and then some, whatever his normal take was to begin with … ” Stiger paused, looking up at the spymaster. “Do you think that will motivate them sufficiently?”

“I believe,” Harananos said in an amused tone, “if I know our good Prefect Ascarti, once he receives his orders, he will be scrambling to put everything to sea just as fast as he can. A fifty-percent cut will likely see his personal take grow closer to thirty-five percent. Of course, he will manage to skim more off the top, but that’s just part of doing business and only to be expected.” Ha

“If he rolls his dice right,” Marcus added, “at the end of the day, he will easily pay off his debts and see him one of the wealthiest men in the empire.”

“Quite possibly,” Harananos said, “and someone so heavily in debt can’t miss the significance of the opportunity we are throwing his way.”

“Do it,” Stiger said to his father.

“I will have a messenger on the road to him come dawn with detailed orders, along with our expectations,” Marcus said.

“Excellent, what else is there?” Stiger glanced down at the waiting tablets. They alone would take several hours to read and digest, not to mention those missives he was required to personally respond to. He was beginning to think he needed a team of clerks and tribunes to assist him, a proper staff, like when he commanded the Thirteenth Legion. It was something to consider.

“The wagon recovered with part of the treasury has arrived,” Marcus said. “It will keep us going for a few weeks. Unfortunately, there’s been no word yet on the rest of it.”

Stiger gave a nod of understanding. He found it frustrating that Magnus, along with the remainder of the treasury, had not been located yet. Even more irritating and worrisome, he’d received no word from Eli. Mechlehnus had heard nothing either and had reported as much.

“As of today, thirty-two senators have returned to the capital,” Marcus continued. “All have requested the honor of an audience. I have had Lekentius add them to your schedule over the next few days. That currently gives us thirty-eight.”

“Not enough for a quorum,” Stiger said.

“No, but they are very eager to work with us,” Marcus said. “Your brother Max is spearheading that effort.”

“I have not seen Max in a few days,” Stiger said.

“He’s been busy laying the groundwork for your confirmation by the senate and coming coronation,” Marcus said.

“I will guarantee,” Harananos shifted slightly, “that in a few days you will have your quorum. My eyes and ears tell me so, Imperator. I would expect within the next two weeks you will have what you need to make things official.”

“Oh, one other thing,” Marcus said, “though I don’t see how we can help, a messenger arrived from the general in command of the Felix Legion, Decidus Maximus Seventus.”

Stiger found himself looking at the map again, picking out the garrison’s location with his eyes.

“The messenger got out before the legion was thoroughly surrounded,” Marcus continued. “It is confirmed—they are besieged, trapped. The tribes have mustered at least a hundred thousand of their warriors.”

“A hundred thousand?” Stiger asked in surprise. More bad news. The empire was surrounded on nearly all fronts now and the numbers of their enemies only continued to grow. He felt the weight of responsibility pressing down hard upon his shoulders. It seemed to be increasing with each passing day. How could he pull off a victory against such overwhelming odds? Stiger did not know.

He felt his anger stir.

“Possibly more,” Marcus said gravely. “Seventus wasn’t quite sure on their exact numbers. Though it seems he saw this long in the making—the tribes moving against the empire, that is—and began accumulating supply in advance. In his letter, he refers to his other pleas for help. Now, he’s begging for immediate relief.”

“So, he alerted the High Command, then, as to what was coming from the tribes,” Stiger said.

“And for some reason was ignored,” Marcus said. “That much is abundantly plain from his letter.”

“I understand he specifically asked permission to withdraw,” Harananos said. “He was denied by the emperor himself, Lears, that is.”

“Handi’s work then,” Stiger said sourly as he drummed his fingers on the desktop. Despite the man being dead, his efforts were still coming back to haunt Stiger. He gritted his teeth for a moment and almost wished Valoor could bring the bastard back … to be reborn so he could kill him again in repayment for the headache he had given him. Only, Stiger had allowed the sword to take Handi’s soul and had therefore broken the chain of birth, death, and rebirth. There was no coming back this time for Handi. And giving the man’s soul to the sword was perhaps a fate worse than death.

It is worse … he suffers at my hand … and ultimately will aid our … my cause.

Stiger went still and then pushed the door to Rarokan’s prison closed once more.

“Most likely,” Marcus agreed.

“There’s nothing we can do for them,” Stiger said, feeling even more frustration, his anger on a slow boil.

“Unless you want to divert Treim,” Harananos suggested.

Stiger looked over at the map on the wall next to his desk. “If I diverted Treim’s army, they’d likely arrive too late, maybe five to six weeks from now. We need them here, to face off against the Cyphan should they finally get around to moving north. Changing the army’s line of march would put Treim’s army weeks away from the capital and even farther from linking up with Mechlehnus. Those two armies must be in a position where they can mutually support one another for when the Cyphan do move.”

“Interestingly,” Marcus said, “Seventus might be able to hold out longer than expected. With them is the Forty-Fifth Legion, along with seven auxiliary cohorts from border forts. He’s also brought in much of the nearby militias. He reports he has nearly thirty-five thousand men holding the garrison and enough provisions to last them, at the minimum, six months, including fresh water. Not only do they have a water source, but they have a large cistern as well. Nebernacum is a permanent garrison fort. The walls are strong and made of brick, mortar, and stone. He feels confident it will take the enemy some time to overcome his defenses. I’ve seen the place—a few years back. If it’s in as good condition as Seventus says, the tribes will have some difficulty overcoming the garrison’s walls. He served under my command as a junior officer. He’s a good general and a solid tactician. If he says he can hold for a time, then he most likely can.”

“Can they hold for six months?” Stiger asked.

“I doubt it,” Marcus said. “Not against the numbers the tribes have brought.”

Rubbing his jaw, Stiger leaned farther back in his chair as he thought on the problem. Thirty-five thousand men, which included two legions, were a lot. He needed those trained and experienced men. He looked to Harananos. “How did the Forty-Fifth get there? Do you know?”

“I do not, Imperator,” Harananos admitted. “That legion was farther north, by several hundred miles. With the tribes on the move, the general in command, Tevilius Carnus, might have thought his own garrison insufficient to hold against the tribes of Sertal Zeth and marched south to join up with the Felix Legion. Mind you, that is only conjecture at this point. What I do know is Tevilius and Seventus are good friends. They’ve likely been coordinating for weeks behind the previous emperor’s back.”

“Self-preservation is a powerful motivator,” Marcus said.

“I wish I knew how many other legions were out there,” Stiger said. “Handi and Veers did too good a job at handicapping us.”

“Harananos has been exceptionally helpful in that regard,” Marcus said, glancing over at the spymaster. “We have a better picture, or at least one is beginning to develop. And we have messengers out to all the commands we know of that may still be intact. More than a few have begun reporting in.” Marcus gestured at the tablets. “When you go through those reports tonight, you will see what I am talking about.”

“Of those who have,” Harananos said, “your father issued immediate recall orders. Within days, those formations should begin marching back on the capital. Though for most, it will take more than a month or two for them to reach us.”

“And how many would that be?” Stiger asked. “Do we know how many formations we’re talking about here?”

“Four legions, two of which are understrength, poorly equipped, and thirty-two auxiliary cohorts of varying compositions, quality, and strength, some militias too,” Marcus said. “Maybe fifty to sixty thousand men total—that’s if we’re lucky. That number could be less. We won’t know for sure until we get an accurate accounting of their strength totals. I’ve got the courier network working on overtime. Give me another week on that front and I will have a much better picture for you as to what Tioclesion left us.”

Stiger understood Tioclesion had probably called upon the best formations of the empire to take with him south to confront the Cyphan. What he’d left were likely the dregs.

“We’re going to need to raise new legions as well,” Stiger said, “but that takes time and money, both of which we are rapidly running out of.”

“There are plenty of refugees in the city,” Marcus said. “Recruiting should not be an issue, especially since they’re not on the grain dole and hungry. Paying them, however, is another matter. As are time for training and money for feeding, along with equipping new recruits, hence your tour today.”

“I have been thinking about that, Imperator,” Harananos said. “I might have a solution, or at least a temporary one.”

“Go on,” Stiger said, curious as to his thinking.

“There are a few extraordinarily wealthy senators and equestrians, who, I am sure, would like nothing better than to do their patriotic duty and support the empire in her time of need, if you get my meaning.”

“You mean to shake them down,” Marcus said sourly. “That crosses dangerous territory. More than one emperor met an untimely end after he crossed powerful people.”

“Despite the risks, I do mean just that,” Harananos said. “It is a source of funding we have yet to tap, one we cannot ignore.”

“Won’t that make us more enemies?” Stiger asked, looking between them. “I don’t believe we need any more than we have.”

“If I am not mistaken, the gold and silver mines are still producing at acceptable levels,” Harananos said. “The mint is striking coin and taxes are being collected. If we agree to repay them with the future promise of substantial interest, it sort of ties the lenders to us. If we fall and are ruined, then so too are they. It’s a win-win scenario for us, for they can’t help but get behind us in support. To do otherwise would hurt themselves.”

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he thought on it some. He didn’t like it, but funds were needed right now, and badly, especially if they were to raise fresh legions. “All right. Let’s do it.”

“I may have to get, how should I say it, a little intimidating—threaten a few to secure the loans we require,” Harananos said. “Really my toughs will do that bit. There may even be some blackmail involved.”

Stiger glanced over at his father and raised an eyebrow.

“I think you should run your list through me, first,” Marcus said to Harananos. “I’d not want any of our true friends or clients bullied, people we can rely upon in even the worst of times.”

Harananos gave an agreeable nod. “Since you don’t have very many of either, I don’t believe that will be a problem or hindrance in what needs doing.”

“How many people are we talking about?” Stiger asked.

“No more than a handful,” Harananos said. “I should be able to raise several million gold talons within two weeks’ time.”

“Several million?” Stiger sat up straighter.

“You want more?” Harananos asked in a serious vein. “Ten, twenty million? How much do you need? I am sure I can raise it—but paying all that back will take longer, of course, and prove a serious drain on the empire’s resources and finances.”

“Several million will do for a start,” Marcus said. “With luck, the imperial treasury will soon be located, solving a few of our problems in that department.”

“Excellent,” Harananos said to Marcus. “We will go over my list come morning. I will have it ready by then. Once you sign off, I will get right to work.”

“Very good,” Marcus said.

“What of the Brotherhood?” Stiger asked.

“I have rounded up those that we were able to get our hands on,” Harananos said. “They are fundamentalists, mostly all fanatics, and therefore easily manipulated. They believe every conceivable lie and mistruth about you and the High Priestess. It is quite astonishing really. There are surely others out there who think the same. We will need to consider at some point soon engineering a campaign of some kind to put you—and your wife—in a better light with the people. You have supporters, but you also have detractors and enemies. I am certain you are aware of this.”

“I understand.” Stiger stood and moved over to the fire, which still had a good blaze going. It crackled and hissed in an agreeable manner as he stared into its depths. “What about the leadership of the Brotherhood?”

“When it comes to their leaders, those that issued the order for the attack upon the High Priestess, I have been unable to locate them, particularly a man named Siberi Jeskios. He is the head monk of their order, a former senior centurion from Second Legion. It is possible he fled the city. I am still aggressively searching for him. Even as we speak, my people are tracking down leads. Please be assured, I will leave no stone unturned.”

“Is there any evidence they were working with our enemy?” Stiger asked, turning his gaze from the fire.

“None that I can find,” Harananos said. “Shockingly, those we have taken into custody seem steadfastly loyal to Magnus. When I have more to report, I will inform you immediately. I would not worry. The Brotherhood is no longer a serious threat, let alone a concern. Their numbers were always small, and we have most of their followers in custody. Those we haven’t yet captured have gone into hiding.”

“Very good.” Stiger moved away from the fire and back to his desk. He sat down again.

“Speaking of the High Priestess,” Marcus said, “you mentioned you were going to visit with Spatz. How’d that go?”

“Quite well, actually,” Stiger said. “Recruiting efforts for the Temple Guard are complete. They’re being trained, and hard, using legionary standards and practices. Spatz has locked down the Temple District and borrowed around five hundred of the city militia to help with that effort. I was well-pleased with all that I saw and is going on there. I think anyone wanting to get at the High Priestess will have a more difficult time of it.”

Marcus nodded.

“Anything else?” Stiger asked.

Harananos held up an index finger. “Ah, there is something curious to report … a mystery.”

Stiger turned his attention back to his spymaster. “And what is that?”

“Relatives of Senator Lesto are turning up dead, both inside and outside the city,” Harananos said. “At first, I did not think much of it, other than someone settling a score, but … it seems like the entire family is being systematically eliminated, and in the most gruesome way possible. It is as if someone is making a statement with their actions. If I were to be honest, it even shocks my sensibilities, and I have almost none to offend.”

Stiger and his father shared a look.

“I do not know who is doing it or why,” Harananos said. “That bothers me, somewhat. However, Lesto is now an open enemy, a traitor, so someone is really doing us a favor by eliminating his family. It wouldn’t surprise me if the senator’s body is discovered in the coming days.”

“That would be a pleasant surprise,” Stiger said.

“There are a few people, mostly senators, who are whispering that you are responsible for that, Imperator. I know it sounds preposterous … but there might ultimately be unforeseen consequences … ”

“Are they?” Stiger asked, sharing another look with his father. “Fear can be a useful weapon.”

“It can, my son,” Marcus agreed, then turned to Harananos. “We are not responsible for the killings. If you find out who is, let us know. We will thank them for their efforts.”

There was a hard rap on the door. It opened and in strode one of Ruga’s men. He came to attention and saluted.

“An urgent messenger arrived from General Treim, sir. He insisted upon seeing you directly. We are holding him just down the hall, in a side room, since he’s not road-dusty like the other messengers that have come in. It seemed odd.”

“He’s not?” Stiger asked.

“Centurion Ruga is with him, sir. He questioned him personally and then decided you should speak with him. That is, if you have time, sir.”

“Send him right in,” Stiger said, his curiosity afire. Was it bad news?

“Yes, sir.” The guard stepped out in the hall, closing the door behind him.

“This is a little odd,” Marcus said.

“Very,” Harananos said. “He must have stopped somewhere in the city and cleaned up before reporting. That does not sound like a messenger with an urgent message, now, does it?”

A moment later, there came another knock on the door. It opened. A legionary officer stepped through with Ruga following close behind. Stiger almost did a double take.

Stiger stood and grinned. “Ranl.”

Stiger’s former sergeant, promoted to centurion, stopped before the desk, braced to attention, and saluted.

“You are the last man I expected to see this night,” Stiger said.

“Yes, sir,” Ranl said. “Three days ago, I didn’t expect to be here either, and in the palace, to boot. General Treim sent me with a personal message, sir. I am to tell you directly, for he wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle it.”

Stiger looked at Ruga. “Centurion, I am not sure you ever had the pleasure of meeting Centurion Ranl.”

“No, sir, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Ruga said with a very serious look as he glanced sidelong at Ranl. “He seems familiar, though, as in I might have seen his face a time or two in passing.”

Ranl spared the other centurion a hard look that reeked with disgust. “You still owe me five silver talons after that dice game a few months back.”

“Do I?” Ruga asked with an innocent look. “I don’t recall that.”

“You have a shitty memory.”

“Better that than having piles,” Ruga said.

Stiger let go an unhappy breath. “Ruga, kindly leave us.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruga said. Clearly looking none too happy about not being permitted to stay, he spared Ranl a look, then left the room, closing the door behind him, almost slamming it closed.

Ranl glanced over at Marcus and Harananos, as if suddenly uncomfortable, nervous even, as the enormity of where he was seemed to hammer home. It was clear he was wondering who the other two men were.

“Say what you have to say,” Stiger said. “Whatever it is, both would hear it from me afterwards.”

“Yes, sir.” Ranl had not relaxed an iota. He stood stiffly straight. “I came by dragon, sir. We landed a few hours ago, just outside the city in a secluded area.”

“We?” Stiger asked. “Dragon? From the army?”

“The Vass and me, sir. They didn’t know how they’d be received by the locals or landing at the palace unannounced, sir. You see, we didn’t want to startle anyone or cause alarm.”

Stiger felt his heart beating faster at this news. He recalled the Vass had promised to send dragons to protect the capital. They had finally come!

“The Vass?” Marcus asked, turning to look over at his son. “These are the catlike people you told me of?”

“They are.” Stiger glanced at Harananos. The man looked wholly unaffected by the news, unsurprised, cool, and collected. Turning back to Ranl, he said, “Go on.”

“General Treim sent me along, so I could report to you here at the palace,” Ranl continued. “That way, you’d see me, especially since I have a personal connection with you, sir. We have twenty dragons, sir. There are another twenty watching over the army.”

“Forty dragons?” Stiger asked, shocked. “Really?”

“Two hundred Vass came with me,” Ranl said. “They have placed the dragons at your disposal, sir, but honestly, I don’t think the beasts answer to anyone but themselves. They are more like allies of the Vass than anything else. General Treim told me to tell you that the dragons that remained with the army agreed to protect the army from enemy wyrms, but that was all, sir. The Vass also have an army of nearly ten thousand marching up from the south. They are at least three months from reaching the capital. Oh, and they apparently destroyed a small enemy army in the far south.”

“This is very good news,” Marcus said. “These Vass allies of yours seem quite capable.”

Thinking that an understatement, Stiger sat down upon his chair, his mind racing as he thought over what he’d just been told. This really changed the equation. That was, if the dragons were agreeable, and from what he’d learned dealing with Menos and Currose, at times, they could be very disagreeable.

His thoughts shifted to Menos and Ogg. He needed to find them, because before everything was all said and done, he’d need their help. Still, Currose was not ready. She did not have the strength for an extended trip, let alone to cope with what they might encounter, especially at the place where Stiger needed to go, the volcano, where his two friends were likely being held.

Could he take one of the dragons that had just arrived and go get them himself? Dare he go without Currose? It was an interesting line of thought.

“I do not enjoy flying, sir. Bloody cold and I don’t like heights none.”

“I know the feeling,” Stiger said, then what Ranl had said hit him. “You mentioned two hundred Vass came to the capital? They came by dragonback on these twenty dragons?”

“Yes, sir,” Ranl said. “I understand they were using the dragons, until recently, to ferry their army to the south from the World Gate to land … ah, somewhere along the coast of the Narrow Sea, all ten thousand of them. That’s what one of the dragons told me.”

“They moved an entire army by dragonback with just forty dragons?” Stiger asked, impressed.

“Yes, sir,” Ranl said. “Apparently it took some time. I’m not sure how far the Gate was, but I understand it wasn’t too far from land, at least for a dragon.”

Rubbing his chin, Stiger turned his attention to the map on the wall. His gaze went to the Narrow Sea. He found himself impressed the Vass had moved their entire army by dragonback. He stared at his map for a long moment, his eyes going to Asti and then the spot marked in charcoal where Mechlehnus’s army was currently located. His gaze shifted to the south, where Treim’s army was marching north, and then finally to where the Felix Legion’s garrison, Nebernacum, was located.

He had too many fires to try to put out, too many problems on his plate. Still, with the arrival of the dragons, the picture wasn’t as bleak as it had been moments before. They had brought him real power, something the enemy would ultimately have to contend with.

At the same time, Stiger well understood he could not squander their power, for like the noctalum, these dragons used will to fight and fly. Spend too much will and they’d be useless to him.

The enemy had dragons of their own. Stiger rubbed his chin. He knew he had to conserve what he had for that final conflict … and yet …

He went still, latching onto an idea. It was absurd, ludicrous even. He looked over at his father and struggled not to grin.

“What?” Marcus asked.

“It’s time to change the dynamic. I know how we’re going to seize the initiative from the enemy.”

“How?” Marcus asked.

“I think you will need to cancel those meetings you set up with the senators. Oh, and you might be going to Lavernius’s party alone.”

“Cancel them? Why? Where are you going to go?”

“You are not going to like it, but I’ve just had an idea.” Stiger suddenly laughed at the absurdity of it. “If the dragons are agreeable, it might just change things.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Prepare yourselves …

The dragon banked sharply to the right, seeming to tip herself almost completely over. Through the darkness of the night Stiger saw hundreds of campfires from the massive encampment below. It was an awesome sight and very much looked like a sea of stars.

Then the dragon began a spiraling turn as she dropped rapidly toward the ground. Stiger’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. The wind rushed at him, whistling through his helmet, and made tears stream from the corners of his eyes. Then the camp was carried out of sight, and he was treated to a view of moonlit snow-covered fields, with occasional patches of trees for as far as his eye could see before everything was swallowed by darkness.

Behind him came a high-pitched scream that could only be described as one of pure joy, exhilaration, and terrible excitement. Stiger didn’t even bother to turn to look. He held onto the dragon’s spike to his front as tightly as he could, bracing himself, as she continued to swing around while dumping altitude.

Below, the moonlit ground seemed to be rushing up, rapidly drawing closer with every passing heartbeat. Then the camp was in view again, much closer this time. Stiger had a flash of men clustered around fires, the defensive walls, sentries, then the dragon turned once more, swinging around before her wings fully extended. She leveled off, flying in a straight line.

The sickening sensation of descending was still there. It was a feeling he did not much enjoy. Stiger closed his eyes. Then the dragon gave a series of powerful beats of her wings, and the cold, biting wind rushing against his face slackened considerably.

A moment later, the expected shock of contact came as the dragon touched down, rocking Stiger violently as she took a few steps before coming to a full stop. The dragon folded her leathery wings back and settled down to the ground.

Even bundled up as he was, with his bearskin cloak and wrapped in a thick wool blanket, Stiger was cold, terribly so. Under the bright moonlight, he looked around, gathering his bearings. They had landed in a snow-covered field about two hundred yards from the encampment’s walls, right near the main gate.

Men, all legionaries, had lined the walls and were looking out into the darkness at them. Stiger could hear shouts coming from the encampment. Standing amidst the torchlight, Stiger spotted a delegation waiting just outside the gate. A moment later, they started making their way through the snow toward the dragon.

Stiger looked over at his wife. Having removed the blankets she’d worn, along with the wool cap, she was well into the process of untying the straps that held her in place. He began to work at his own. At first, he had difficulty loosening the knots with his numb fingers. Stiger vigorously rubbed his hands together for warmth and blew on them, working at getting the feeling back. Then he returned to the task at hand and rapidly got one free.

The next knot came easily enough and then all the straps were untied. Standing stiffly upon the dragon’s back, Stiger tossed the woolen blanket over the creature’s side and to the ground below. He stretched out his back and legs. The muscles felt stiff, for it had been several hours since their last stop, at sunset.

The flight had been cold, uncomfortable, and long. With stops along the way to rest and catch a few hours of sleep, it had taken them three days to get here. Stiger was looking forward to a warm fire and something to drink and eat besides the bland rations they had brought with them. Of course, army rations weren’t much better.

With a bark, Dog leapt from the dragon’s back and to the snow-covered ground below. Stiger stared for a long moment, for a normal dog might have injured himself. But Dog was not normal. Landing in the calf-high snow, the animal shook himself and then raced up to the approaching delegation. He leaped up and threw himself on Salt, his paws landing on the man’s shoulder.

Laughing, Salt reeled backward while the animal licked enthusiastically at his face. Dog’s tail was a blur of motion as it shook not only the animal, but Salt as well. Stiger grinned at the sight of the reunion.

With Salt was General Treim and Ikely, along with a gnome Stiger recognized—Cragg. The snow was up to the gnome’s waist. Stiger glanced behind him. Wast, the gnome legionary officer, had finished untying his straps. The gnome had stood and was looking down at those approaching from below. Just beyond Wast was Ruga and a dozen of Ruga’s men. The packs and supplies they had brought with them were secured across the entirety of the dragon’s back.

“Was much fun,” Wast said, patting the nearest of the dragon’s dark blue spikes. Tonight, even under the moon, they appeared black. “Flying fun. Good dragon. Good girl.”

Underneath Stiger’s feet, the dragon gave a shiver and then shook herself slightly, almost knocking the gnome off his feet. Gaze returning to Cragg, Stiger had sudden misgivings about what he’d planned. Before, it had seemed like a good idea … now he was beginning to have second thoughts. Gnomes were not the easiest of creatures to manage and Cragg had proven more troublesome and devious than most.

“You, men,” Ruga barked, “get your asses over the side and to the ground. Davos and Kren, you two sorry sumbitches, get the packs unsecured and then toss them down to the others.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply.

“Mattinus,” Ruga called.

“Sir?”

“Once the packs are down, take an inventory of our stores. Then see the quartermaster and get what we need replenishment-wise. It’s gonna be a few days before we see supply again. Make sure we get plenty of food and they don’t skimp. Also, check the meat to make sure none of it’s rotten or moldy. If there’s a problem, you see me straightaway.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Come on, husband.” Taha’Leeth touched Stiger’s arm and drew his attention. “It is time we get down as well, before they start tossing the packs down on our heads.”

“Right,” Stiger said as she moved to the side and, using the dragon’s scales for handholds, began working her way down the side of the fearsome beast and to the ground, more than twenty feet below.

Stiger was about to follow when he noticed the dragon’s head had snaked around. Eyes seeming to glow under the bright moonlight, the massive creature, Stovan’Tassm, was looking straight at Stiger.

“Thank you for the flight here. I appreciate it.”

You are welcome, human … Champion of the High Father. It was my honor to carry you. How long do you suppose we will tarry?

Stiger turned his gaze to the camp and delegation. “A few hours at best, shorter if I can manage it. Just long enough to organize and get things moving in the direction I want them to go.”

I am not happy with the place we will be traveling to next, Stovan said. As one of the faithful, just the thought of it makes me … uneasy.

“I know,” Stiger said, for the dragon had already told him this multiple times. It was clear she was trying to get him to reconsider. “As a follower of the High Father, I am not thrilled either. I feel the need to travel there, and strongly too, for we need allies in the fight that lies ahead.”

The dragon gave a sort of chuffing sound that he took to be the equivalent of an unhappy grunt. Once he’d told the dragon where he wanted to go after visiting the army, she’d protested vehemently. It had taken some time for him to get her onboard.

The idea had come shortly after he’d made his decision to leave Mal’Zeel. The pull, or really the urge, had come next. It was as if the High Father was telling him he approved. Even now, Stiger could feel it tugging at him to be off.

“There is no doubt what lies ahead will prove to be the struggle of our lives,” Stiger added.

Very well. I shall be waiting. Do you wish me to assemble the others? They already know you want to speak with them. The dragon gave another shiver. I have not told them what you will require of them.

“Not yet,” Stiger said, thinking of the dragons that were protecting Treim’s army. He’d already spoken with those that had come to the capital. Even now they were carrying out his plan of action. “I want to deal with those below and get things settled here before I speak with them. So, right before we depart. Will that work?”

The dragon dipped her head slightly in what Stiger took to be a mark of acknowledgement and possibly respect. With that, gripping the dragon’s blue scales, Stiger began to climb to the ground. He jumped the last two feet, his boots crunching and sinking into the snow.

Taha’Leeth was waiting for him at the bottom. All of Ruga’s men, but the two charged with the packs, were already down and forming a bubble of protection around this side of the dragon.

Stiger straightened his bearskin cloak as Wast stepped up to his side, struggling through the snow, which, for a gnome, was deep. The men gathered on the wall gave out a hearty cheer. They clearly knew who had come calling. Stiger raised a hand in reply and waved. The cheer grew even louder. It was thunderous.

Stiger turned his gaze from the wall to the approaching delegation, and his misgivings intensified. He looked down at Wast. The gnome, clearly sensing his attention, looked back up at him with what could only be described as the appearance of pure innocence.

“As you know, there are other gnomes that are part of this army,” Stiger said firmly. “I want no blood, and I mean that, Wast. We need to work together. Everyone must get along. No killing, understand? You will behave yourself.”

The gnome eyed the approaching delegation for a couple of heartbeats, then gave a scowl. He looked back up at Stiger with unblinking black eyes that glittered with reflected moonlight. “No trouble, no trouble. You see—all good.”

Stiger had his doubts about that. He turned his attention to Ruga.

“Sir?” Ruga asked, having caught Stiger’s look.

“Stand your men to the sides,” Stiger said. “No need to bar the way, not amongst friends.”

“You heard the emperor,” Ruga barked, and with that, his men moved to either side, opening a path between Stiger and those approaching.

With Taha’Leeth at his side and boots crunching the fresh snow, Stiger started forward, working his way across the field. He came to a stop a few feet from Treim and the others. “General, it is good to see—”

There was a frightful screech at his side. Before Stiger could reach out and grab him, Wast launched himself forward, charging through the snow at Cragg and screaming wildly.

The other gnome, after a moment of startlement, bared his teeth in a feral grin and met the charge head-on. Instead of coming to blows, the two embraced, hugging and slapping each other fondly on the back and chattering away excitedly in their own language.

Stiger stood dumbfounded. This was the last reaction he’d expected. After a moment, he shared a look with his wife. Shaking her head, Taha’Leeth gave a slight laugh. “I believe they know each other.”

“Apparently … they do.” Stiger shook his head, for he’d been dreading this meeting between Cragg and Wast. He let go an unhappy breath.

“You didn’t think to ask, did you?” Taha’Leeth asked, the amusement plain in her voice. She well knew how concerned he’d been, for he’d told her. “Gnomes are a very long-lived species and it’s a big world. They don’t typically stay in one place for long.”

“Really? I’ve been dealing with the little bastards for years,” Stiger said, “and I didn’t know that.”

“Evidently,” Taha’Leeth said with a slight grin directed at him.

Treim drew himself to attention and saluted. “Welcome back to the army, Imperator.”

Stiger turned his attention to the general. His face was lined with exhaustion. The march he had asked the general to undertake was a hard one, and the army was making good time too. Stiger held out his hand. “General, it is very good to see you again.”

“And you too, Imperator.” Treim relaxed and clasped Stiger’s arm firmly.

“Salt, Ikely,” Stiger said warmly and shook both men’s hands in turn.

“Sir,” Salt said by way of greeting.

“Good to see you again, sir,” Ikely said.

“I must admit, it came as a surprise when the dragon called ahead,” Treim said. “Had I more warning of your arrival and not just a half hour, I would have sent word to the dwarves and elves. Their encampment is only ten miles down the road. I am certain Tenya’Far and Braddock would have been here as well.”

“No doubt, but that can’t be helped,” Stiger said. “My time is limited. I only have a few hours before I must be off.” He glanced over at the two gnomes. “I am surprised to see Cragg is with you. Don’t the gnomes have their own camp?”

“They do, sir.” Treim glanced down at the two creatures, who were clearly doing their best to become reacquainted. “However, I was meeting with him to discuss the latest group of his people that joined our ranks, the Gewashar, I believe they are called.”

“What do you mean latest group?” Stiger asked, glancing over at Cragg. “I’ve read nothing about that in your reports.”

“As we’ve marched north,” Treim said, “especially over the last fifty miles, we’ve had additional bands of gnomes join our ranks. Before this last bunch, they were small groups, numbering twenty to a hundred. There was no need to really report on them. But now … ”

“I invite,” Cragg said proudly, breaking away from Wast, tapping his chest, and drawing their attention. “They come for Grand Kluge, for me. They fight with us.”

Stiger was silent for a long moment as he regarded the gnome. “How many?”

“How many what?” Cragg asked.

“How many have come?” Stiger asked the gnome, feeling frustration but keeping it from his voice. He had the suspicion Cragg had understood his meaning but was intentionally playing games with him.

“Lots.”

“That’s not helpful. Did you not count them?”

Cragg gave a shrug of his tiny shoulders as if to say such things bothered him little. “Many.”

Giving up, Stiger turned to Treim, gesturing at Cragg and Wast with a thumb. “Any idea on their numbers now?”

“It’s just a guess, sir, maybe seventy-five thousand,” Treim said. “It could be a little more or a little less.”

“That many?” Stiger looked over at Cragg.

“I ask peoples, they come.” Cragg thumped his chest with a tiny fist. “Their kluge call and they come. That simple.”

“There’s been no way to count them all, other than by guesstimate,” Treim said, “as they refuse to count themselves. I am not even sure they have that capability or the discipline to do so.”

Rubbing his jaw, Stiger looked back on Cragg. This was an interesting turn of events. He had not considered having so many gnome warriors at hand. It certainly added to his combat power and increased his chances for success. Then again, he was talking about gnomes here. He wondered how many other groups of gnomes were out there, across the breadth of the empire and unbeknownst to everyone else on the surface, living down in the deep dark, let alone the entire world.

“Cragg, are any more coming?” Stiger asked.

“Maybe yes, maybe no.”

“You don’t know,” Stiger surmised.

“He probably told them there was a big fight coming,” Taha’Leeth said.

“Yes, yes,” Cragg said. “I send messengers. Warriors listen, pick up from tribes, and come or not come. They decide.”

Stiger glanced back at the dragon a few yards away, his eyes studying the massive creature. He felt his excitement abruptly tick up and it was a struggle not to grin. The bloodthirsty little bastards enjoyed nothing more than a good fight and Stiger was about to give them one.

My brothers and sisters, Stovan said in his mind, will not be pleased with your plan when they learn of it.

“I expect not,” Stiger said in reply. “But there is really no choice.”

There is always a choice, Stovan said.

“Don’t I know it,” Stiger said, turning his gaze back to the gnomes. Stiger wondered if he had made the correct decision. But now it was too late. He was already committed. The gears of his plan were already in motion and it was too late to bring them to a halt.

I am not happy with it either, but I will do as you request, for the stakes before us are great, the dragon said.

Stiger looked over to the two gnomes, both of whom were looking up at him.

“You’re old friends?” Stiger asked curiously.

“Cousin Wast,” Cragg said and patted the other gnome fondly on the back. “Most him family I no like … but he good. He okay. He”—Cragg pointed to Wast and then himself—“I … we go orc hunting. Much fun.”

“He know fun time,” Wast said, nodding vigorously. “Cousin Cragg. Much fun.”

Outside of orc hunting, Stiger wondered what fun time meant to a gnome.

“Say … where is green friend?” Cragg asked, looking around. “He hide? No see him.”

“Therik?” Stiger asked, to which Cragg nodded. “I left him back in the capital, looking after my father.”

Therik wanted nothing to do with what Stiger was going to attempt and had said so plainly. Where gnomes were concerned, the former king got very uncomfortable and Stiger could well understand why. It comforted Stiger that his friend had remained with his father and was watching over him.

“I like him,” Cragg said. “He good orcy. Say hi, when see next.”

“General Treim,” Stiger said, “may I introduce Legate Wast of the First Gnomish Legion.”

“Gnomish Legion?” Treim asked in surprise, turning to the gnome.

Wast patted his chest armor proudly.

Cragg said something in his own tongue, which caused Wast to nod vigorously and then point to Stiger. Wast said something in reply. Cragg seemed to eye his cousin with a new respect, or at least Stiger thought so. But in truth he had no idea what impressed a gnome.

“I promoted him from centurion to legate in the last few days,” Stiger said. “They have a light legion stationed just outside of Mal’Zeel, or until recently they did, and believe me, General, we need all the swords we can get right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Treim said, though he did not sound convinced.

“Trust me,” Stiger said, “they can fight. He and his boys helped me defeat Lears. With them, we took not only the palace, but the throne. They are tenacious fighters.”

“So you have told me, Imperator,” the general said, then turned to Wast. “Legate Wast, I am General Treim. This”—he gestured to Ikely—“is my senior tribune, Ikely, and Legate Oney of the Thirteenth Legion. We are honored to meet you and have you amongst us as brothers of the line.”

“I honored.” Wast snapped off a crisp legionary salute to the general, which Treim dutifully returned.

“This is going too easy,” Stiger commented to his wife in Elven. “I am not accustomed to that happening when it comes to gnomes.”

“Are you suggesting things could possibly go wrong when it comes to those two? I am shocked by such a possibility.”

“My lady.” Treim gave her a slight bow. “It is good to see you well.”

“Thank you, General,” Taha’Leeth said, switching to the common tongue. “It is good to be back, though it will only be for a short time.”

“When are you leaving?” Treim asked them.

“Likely at dawn,” Stiger said. “There is another place I must go, and it will take some time to get there.”

“Yes, sir. So, what is this plan?” Treim asked.

“General,” Stiger said, “it took us three days to get here. I am cold, tired, and hungry. I could use some drink and a fire to warm myself by. Once I have that, then I will fill you and the others, including Cragg, in on what I have planned, for we have two legions that need rescuing.”

“Two legions?” Treim asked.

“The Felix and Forty-Fifth. If I can manage it, I am going to lessen your headaches some.”

“Lessen them? I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir,” Treim said.

“I will be taking all of your gnomes, at least as many as I can, and Hux’s boys too.”

“The cavalry?” Treim asked, scowling.

“You are now in the heart of the empire, General, and won’t be needing them. There is not an enemy for several hundred miles in any direction. I, on the other hand, have a great need for horse soldiers, especially where I am going, the edge of the Barrens. Now, kindly lead on, for I want to warm up some.”

“Yes, sir. This way, Imperator,” Treim said and indicated the entrance to the encampment. “I am eager to hear what you have to say.”

Stiger started forward, then stopped after a few yards. He looked back on the two gnomes. Neither had followed. They appeared to have no intention of doing so either.

“What?” Cragg asked.

“You both, come with us.” Stiger pointed at the two of them with a finger. “I don’t want to let either of you out of my sight, not for a moment.”

“Why?” Cragg asked, eyes narrowing. “We no cause trouble.”

“He think we cause trouble,” Wast said, looking at Cragg. “He order me not to kill other gnome.”

“Bah.” Cragg patted Wast on the back. “We good, we good. Old friends … cousins. You no worry.”

Cragg actually smiled at him, showing his needle-sharp teeth. Stiger was sure it was meant to be disarming. It had the opposite effect.

“What about the rest of your people?” Stiger asked. “Can you say the same for them?”

Wast and Cragg shared a long look, clearly some silent meaning passing between them. After a moment Cragg gave a shrug and pointed at Stiger. “He right. Black Toes no like Malshar and you partly Malshar. They cause problem. Then there be the Acktar and Salasix. No like you either.”

Stiger let out a long breath. He knew it had gone too smoothly. That was the problem with gnomes: When you thought you understood them or had things under control, you didn’t. Or perhaps now he was finally beginning to understand them. Was that it? Stiger rubbed at the back of his neck as Taha’Leeth chuckled softly at his side.

“I am not taking any chances,” Stiger said. “Wast, while we are here, where I go, you go. No sneaking off. Stick to me like glue, understand?”

“Yes, yes,” Wast said, almost too quickly.

“That’s an order,” Stiger said firmly. “We will be leaving soon, and I don’t want to have to hunt for you.”

The gnome’s shoulders drooped slightly, but he gave an almost reluctant nod. “I follow. I stay. I be good. No worry.”

“Cragg,” Stiger said, turning his attention to the irksome gnome. “You keep your people away from Wast. I want no blood spilt, no feuds started or, for that matter, settled while we are here, understand?”

“We no cause trouble,” Cragg affirmed. “No bad trouble.”

Stiger was not so sure about that. Cragg barely had any control upon his people, at least not from what Stiger could tell.

“We no cause trouble,” Cragg said again. “You see.”

“Good,” Stiger said, “because we can’t afford any, not now. If what I have planned works out, you and your people will get a chance at a fight unlike any you have ever seen.” Stiger paused, looking directly at Wast. “The High Father”—he turned his attention back to Cragg—“Kessao and any other gods your people worship or honor will be well-pleased with your work when it’s all done. There will be many souls to sacrifice and send on to the other side. You both have my word on that.”

“A fight?” Cragg asked, his voice taking on a higher pitch. The gnome began to rub his little hands together, and it wasn’t to warm them against the cold. “You take us fight? Is that why come?”

“He got biggest fight waiting,” Wast said to Cragg, his arms spreading out to either size as if to emphasize how large the battle would be. “We go big fight.”

Cragg, still rubbing his hands together, rubbed them faster at those words and said something in his own tongue to Wast, who replied.

“Cragg, if your people can’t control themselves, I may be forced to not honor the gnomes by giving them this fight. I’ll have to give it to human legionaries instead. I don’t need blood feuds being started or settled right before we go into battle. Do you understand me on this?”

“No battle then?” Cragg asked.

Stiger shook his head. “No battle.”

Cragg sucked in a deep breath, then drew himself up. “I keep order. I tell all what do. Knock heads if no listen, yes? We behave. No give to humans.”

“Excellent that we understand one another,” Stiger said, feeling he had impressed himself sufficiently upon the irksome gnome. Still, he knew there was bound be some type of trouble. There always was. With gnomes you simply could not avoid it. They were truly children of chaos. The challenge was channeling the chaos and pointing it in the direction you wanted it to go. And even then, it could blow back in your face. The only question Stiger had … could he keep a lid on it long enough for him to do what needed doing, to give them that channel?

Only time would tell.

The two gnomes turned to each other and began talking in their own tongue. It was a rapid-fire exchange. Stiger considered using Rarokan to overhear what was said, then disregarded that idea. Wast was likely filling in Cragg on what was planned. Then again, they could be plotting something to keep their two peoples from killing one another when Stiger got them all together.

“Now, General,” Stiger said wearily, turning to Treim while glancing over at his wife, who was thoroughly amused and grinning full on at him. “We could really use that drink, a warm fire, and some food.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Stiger climbed down from the dragon’s back and dropped to the ground. Ruga’s men were already spreading out on the windswept ledge. Dog was waiting for him at the bottom. Taha’Leeth stepped down from the dragon to the rock ledge a moment later, carrying her bow in one hand and a bundle of arrows in the other.

They shared a grim look.

It was just past noon on the fifth day since they had left the army’s encampment. The air was frigid. Though the sun had melted much of it, fresh snow crunched underfoot as they moved around the dragon.

I do not feel we should be here, Stovan’Tassm said. I feel a compulsion to leave, and it is strong.

“A compulsion?” Stiger asked.

It is a warning not to trespass.

Stiger could sense the dragon’s growing desire to leave as well, and they had only just arrived. It was clear to him that Stovan, like him, did not want to be here either.

With a heavy sigh, Stiger tore his gaze away from the fearsome creature and shifted his attention to the formidable structure that towered high above them. The temple, crafted from rough-hewn slate-gray stone, appeared ancient and foreboding. Its weathered walls and sharp angles suggested a deliberate intent to intimidate outsiders and make them think twice about continuing.

The temple looked to have been carved directly into the side of a forbidding snow-covered mountain. It was nestled perilously along the slope, clinging to the jagged and rough terrain with a seemingly unyielding grip.

As Stiger took in the awe-inspiring sight, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease and a strong desire to leave. It was as if the temple was silently daring him to approach and face its long-held secrets, things that had been kept far from the light.

Having set down on a large rocky ledge, they were halfway up the mountain and beyond the tree line. To climb the mountain would have been a grueling and punishing affair, for it was very rugged. From the ledge, they only had to go a short way farther to reach the temple itself. Hundreds of weather-worn steps had been carved into the steep mountainside and led right up to the temple.

They looked ancient, as if they had been there for centuries. Stiger could imagine travelers, pilgrims maybe, climbing this same path. Had each one been as apprehensive as he? Or had they been eager, joyful at their arrival? The thought was a concerning one and brought him little comfort, for who in their right mind would willingly come here to this forsaken place?

“It is just as Harananos described,” Stiger said to his wife as his eyes went from the temple back to the steps. He sucked in a startled breath.

Dog gave a soft whine as he sidled up to Stiger’s leg.

There was a lone robed figure waiting for them on the far side of the ledge, no more than twenty yards away and just before the first step. He had not been there a moment before. Stiger was certain of that.

“Where did he come from?” Ruga asked as he raised his shield and moved before Stiger protectively. The centurion’s hand was on his sword hilt, ready at a moment’s notice to draw the weapon. The centurion’s men had fanned out before Stiger. They too raised their shields.

“I don’t know,” Stiger admitted. “I suspect he’s the welcoming committee.”

“I do not see where he could have come from,” Taha’Leeth said, glancing around. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

“Neither do I,” Stiger said, then made a decision. “Ruga, stand fast.”

“Sir?” Ruga looked back at him in question. “It’s as the dragon said, we should not be—”

Stiger placed a hand upon Ruga’s shoulder. “I will handle this. Remain here.”

“But, sir,” Ruga said and gestured up the mountain. “This is a temple to Lutha Nyx. You saw what happened in the High Priestess’s office. It’s not bloody safe.”

“I know,” Stiger said. “Coming here was a risk. But we need allies and they have given me cause to believe they can help us.” At least he thought they had. Venthus was an ally of a sort, and they had held the Karus Baton, the World Gate Key, in safekeeping, even seen that it had been delivered to him.

“Even with the odds stacked against us, I am not much liking the thought of having them as allies, sir,” Ruga said. “Their master is a dark one, blacker than night. One of her creatures almost ended us just days back.”

“It was one of the twisted all right, but I am not so sure she wishes us ill,” Stiger breathed. Ruga did not know the truth about Venthus or about the weapons left behind from a previous war. “But you and your men, along with Wast, will be remaining here with Stovan. Taha’Leeth and I will be the only ones proceeding.”

“But, sir—”

“Me want go,” Wast said. “I guard you, keep safe.”

Stiger held up a hand to the both of them as he glanced at the robed figure. In his gut, he knew it would be not only a risk, but a mistake to take others with them. “I have decided the matter and we are done talking about it. You will remain here. Besides, if they wanted us dead, I have a feeling we’d already be feeding the crows.”

You are correct, Stovan said. This is a place not to be transgressed lightly. There is a power here … one I have not felt for an age.

Glancing back at the dragon, Ruga pursed his lips but did not say anything further. It was apparent to Stiger that the centurion was far from pleased. He even looked angry.

“Do not under any circumstances follow,” Stiger said to him. “It might mean certain death. Do you understand?”

“I do, sir.” Ruga’s tone was hard. “We will remain here, as ordered.”

“Good.” Stiger looked over at his wife. “Shall we go?”

“Be my guest,” Taha’Leeth said and gestured with a hand toward the robed figure.

Stiger, with his wife following, started forward. He approached the man in the robe with caution, unsure of what to expect. The figure stood perfectly still, his hood pulled up over his head, casting his face in deep shadow. Stiger could see little of the man’s features, except for the faint outline of his jawline and the glint of his eyes in the dim light, which oddly had a yellow tinge to them. Stiger had the sudden feeling this individual was not altogether human.

The man’s robe was a deep shade of black. The fabric appeared to be made of a thick material, likely wool, and was adorned with intricate patterns and symbols that Stiger did not recognize. The robe flowed around the man’s figure, almost as if it were alive, twisting and fluttering when the wind gusted.

As Stiger drew closer, he could feel a powerful presence emanating from the robed figure. It was as if the man’s will was a palpable force, radiating outward and enveloping those around him. The small hairs on the back of Stiger’s neck stood on end, and with it, a chill slithered down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold winter day.

Stiger had encountered a number of powerful individuals in his life, but this man was somehow different. The will felt was different, alien. Stiger suspected he was a priest of some kind, but he could not be sure. Whatever his role, it was clear he was a force to be reckoned with, one with which Stiger had no wish to tangle.

“I am Savast, head monk of the Order of the Blessed Damned.” The voice was gravelly and almost halting, grating, as if it was not accustomed to being used. “I welcome you to our temple, Champion of the High Father. You are—and have been—expected.”

Stiger glanced over at his wife, then turned his attention back to Savast. Dog had sat down between them, with his gaze firmly fixed upon the yellow-eyed monk.

“How did you know we were coming?” Taha’Leeth asked as she slung her bow over her shoulder.

“It was prophesized, read and written in the holy deck and book.” Savast turned slightly and indicated the steps with a hand. “HE … is waiting for you … inside.”

“You said Order of the Blessed Damned? I understood this to be a temple to Lutha and Nyx.” Stiger glanced up at the towering structure over them.

“Your understanding is correct.” Savast gestured to the steps once more, with an air of eternal patience. “HE waits … has been waiting for this meeting. As I said, you are expected.”

“Who is HE?” Stiger asked curiously.

“The One, he who waits,” Savast said. “He who has many names, many faces, but only one eternal soul, a gift and a curse.”

“I do not understand,” Stiger said.

“You will,” Savast said.

“I take it I am welcome as the High Father’s representative?” Stiger asked, for he was not yet ready to begin climbing those steps, at least until he had some assurances.

“You are welcome within our hallowed halls,” Savast said, and the hood of the cloak shifted slightly, revealing the eyes some more. The pupils looked wrong, more catlike than human. “Though you do not realize it, you indirectly serve our faith. That makes you one of us, brother. You, your wife, and the naverum have nothing to fear … even from those who dwell within the shadows. They too have been waiting on your coming.”

“The twisted?” Stiger asked, his stomach tightening.

The monk gave a slight nod. “As I said, there is nothing to fear. You are our honored guest this day. The god and goddess approve and extend their invitation to you.”

“That would be Lutha and Nyx?” Stiger asked.

“As I said, the god and goddess. When you are ready, you may proceed up the Lonely Ascent, for only those who are gods blessed may come, at least these days.” Once more the monk gestured at the stone steps. “It is time for you to make the climb.”

Stiger shared another look with Taha’Leeth. He felt a moment of apprehension as he looked into her deep eyes. He could see the same reflected in hers.

“We will do this together, all right,” Stiger said.

Her lip twisted, lifting slightly on the left side in a smirk. “Again, husband, be my guest.”

Taking a breath, Stiger started forward, climbing the steps, one at a time. He glanced back after having taken the first five. Taha’Leeth was following him up the narrow steps, Dog just behind. Her look was grave as he met her gaze, all trace of amusement gone, vanished. Then Stiger stopped.

“He’s gone,” Stiger said, gesturing behind them with a hand. “The monk is gone. It’s as if he vanished into thin air.”

Taha’Leeth glanced back. “He might not have ever really been there.”

“As in he was not real?” Stiger asked.

“That too is possible,” she replied. “He might have been what they call a remnant, a projection of someone from a time long gone. Then again, it could have been something else.”

“He certainly seemed real enough,” Stiger said. “The wind was blowing his robes around.”

“Yes, he did,” Taha’Leeth agreed.

Feeling unhappy, he turned back and looked up at the steep set of stone stairs before them. Stiger found himself hesitating as he realized the temple seemed to shade the steps ahead in shadow and he well knew what resided within the shadows of this place. Then he placed his foot upon the next step. By continuing, he felt it was almost as if he were crossing an invisible line from which there was no turning back, and in a way, he was moving from the world of light into the shadow.

Through his boots, he felt the dragon behind him stir and glanced over his shoulder. A few loose rocks from up on the slope to their left came free and tumbled down the mountain. The dragon’s eyes were fixed upon the path ahead and the temple. The sense of unease from Stovan was strong.

They were all outsiders here, intruders in a place that had long belonged to others, some not of this world. But the urgency, the pull, was still there, and Stiger felt no choice but to press onward. He took that next step and then the one after that.

The climb up had Stiger’s legs burning after the first hundred steps. Despite the chill touch of winter and the mountain wind, he soon found himself perspiring and breathing heavily. With each step, he became more aware of the weight of his armor pressing down on his shoulders and neck. The added weight caused his leg muscles to strain and burn with the effort. But the end was in sight, and it was not that far off. And when he finally reached the temple, he would face whatever awaited him with the same resolve that had started him on this journey.

Dog padded along behind them, tongue hanging out of his mouth and panting.

Then, before he knew it, they were there, standing before the massive wooden door, the entrance, which was closed. Stiger eyed the door for a long moment, then glanced upward.

The temple, towering over them, was a wonder of engineering. How long it had taken to construct, let alone how it had been built so high up and on the edge of the mountainside, he had no idea. The temple reminded him of dwarven construction, like what he’d seen in Old City. But this structure was cruder and less refined. It also felt far older, ancient, as if it had been here for years beyond counting. He supposed it might have been.

“So, do we knock?” Taha’Leeth asked. “I do not see a bell pull.”

Instead of answering, Stiger looked back down the steps and the mountain. The dragon had settled down on the ledge, curling up like a dog might before a fire. Ruga and the men with him looked small, toy-like. They were watching Stiger, Taha’Leeth, and Dog. Beyond them, the view was impressive. Shifting his gaze outward, Stiger studied the view. For as far as the eye could see were the arid plains of the Barrens.

These were the lands of the tribes, a scattering of people and their vast and seemingly unending domain. And beyond the Barrens, farther to the north and out of sight, was Sertal Zeth. Cyren was out there to the northeast too. Stiger did not know much about the tribes that lived in the Barrens or the Union of Tribes that resided in Cyren or Zeth, only that they were all a hardy people living in a difficult land, one where survival was not easy, let alone guaranteed.

Some said they worshipped ancient gods, those who had come long before Karus and his people had arrived on Istros. What he did know was that every time the legions had been sent to take their lands, the tribes pushed the empire back. Over the last two hundred years, they had inflicted a series of stinging defeats on the legions.

Gazing at the Barrens now, and from what he had seen as they had flown over it, he could well understand why. The land looked thoroughly inhospitable: a wasteland of unending grass. Sertal Zeth and Cyren were slightly more fertile lands, but still very much like the Barrens.

He did not see a river anywhere in sight, nor a lake or pond, just a snow-covered land for as far as the eye could see. It looked abandoned and empty, only it wasn’t. The tribes had no cities, no centers of civilization, no fixed homes. They were a nomadic people who lived on the move and occasionally emerged to attack and raid civilization.

After failing multiple times at taking this wild and untamed place, the empire had instead settled for a system of containment, building a series of garrisons and strong forts along the border to keep the restless people who called this vast grassland home, including those of Cyren and Sertal Zeth, from venturing out and into imperial lands.

Most raids were minor affairs and easily contained. Generally, the tribes happily fought each other and seemed to prefer to ignore the empire. However, occasionally, instead of struggling with each other over the precious resources that were available, they unified under a leader and came together in strength. That was when they were at their most dangerous and struck into the empire with force, looking to raid and take what those in the borderlands had. When they did that, the fighting to force them back into their own lands had been hard, brutal, and costly.

That was what was happening now, only the tribes were not seeking to raid, but to destroy the empire. They were actively working with Stiger’s enemies, the Cyphan and Castol. He felt a hot bubble of anger at that.

Staring out at the view, Stiger felt moved by the beauty of the rugged land before him. It was breathtaking. Even as he enjoyed it, his anger mounted. Stiger would ensure the tribes failed, and miserably too. He would see them once more beaten back, and hard. He resolved to show no mercy. He’d teach them a lesson they would not soon forget, one that would remain with them for a generation.

“I will make you pay,” Stiger said quietly as he clenched his fists at his side.

“What?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“Magnificent,” Stiger said to his wife, who turned to look as he unclenched. “The view is simply magnificent.”

“This is a beautiful world,” Taha’Leeth said, breathing heavily from the climb. “For so long the exquisiteness was lost upon me, but it has recently been reawakened, my spirit rekindled, reinvigorated. I have you to thank for that.”

“This is our world now,” Stiger said. “Not just mine, but yours as well.”

She gave a nod.

As a strong gust of wind blew around them, Stiger turned back to the temple. The door, a heavy wooden thing that was quite weather-beaten, had somehow been opened while they had been looking away for a brief few moments. He’d not heard or sensed its movement.

“I guess we will not be needing to knock,” Taha’Leeth said.

A corridor lay beyond a small foyer. Lanterns hanging from the ceiling provided a dim light that illuminated the interior in a soft yellow. No one was in view. Stiger found himself hesitating, then gave a mental shrug. He’d already come this far … and now, there was simply no turning back.

“Besides,” Stiger said to himself, “we’ve been invited.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The corridor stretched out before them, extending roughly twenty yards in length. The light from the sporadic lanterns overhead struggled to penetrate the overwhelming darkness that seemed to consume the space. Shadows created by the flickering lantern flames danced along the walls, creating an eerie atmosphere as they illuminated another door at the far end, currently closed to them.

Their footsteps and the sound of Dog’s nails making contact with the stone floor echoed hauntingly off the ancient stone walls, amplifying the already palpable sense of unease he felt. As Stiger walked forward and down the corridor, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister lurked within the shadows around them. Fleeting glimpses of movement flickered at the edges of his vision, but every time he turned his gaze to confront them, he was met with only darkness. He felt very much like they were being watched. In fact, he was sure of it.

Upon reaching the door, Stiger paused and looked back at Taha’Leeth. Her face was ghostly pale under the feeble light, and her eyes betrayed her uneasiness. Stiger empathized with her, for he too felt a deep reluctance to continue exploring this ominous place. At the same time, he knew they must press forward, for he could feel the pull, and with each step it was increasing in strength, demanding he continue forward.

“What now?” Taha’Leeth inquired, her voice barely above a whisper as they stood before the closed door. “Do we knock?”

In that instant, the rusty hinges screeched in agony as the door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. There was no one present, and the door appeared to have moved of its own volition. The path forward was utterly devoid of light. Stiger sensed a vast, cavernous space ahead. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched from within the shadows, and the sense that something waited within the cloying darkness … waiting to strike at the unsuspecting. He could guess at what they were, and he hoped the robed man was telling the truth about them not being a threat, for this was a temple dedicated to the enigmatic gods Lutha and Nyx.

Unwilling to advance without some source of illumination, Stiger reached for Rarokan. As his fingers grasped the hilt, the tingle surged up his arm, disappearing as quickly as it had come. Pulling the sword free from the scabbard, he unsheathed the magical weapon, which instantly blazed to life. Ethereal blue flames danced along the blade’s length, casting a muted glow against the surrounding darkness.

While the sword’s radiance was far from brilliant, it provided just enough light to pierce much of the oppressive gloom around them, which seemed otherworldly. The flickering azure flames revealed dusty floors and walls, the accumulated grime of ages untouched and unbothered. However, upon closer inspection, Stiger noticed peculiar tracks running through the dust—tracks that had been left by creatures unknown to him.

Taha’Leeth observed the strange markings as well. They exchanged a wary glance before Stiger lifted Rarokan, holding the weapon aloft like a lantern. With cautious determination, he stepped from the corridor into the uncharted darkness beyond.

As he crossed the threshold, a deep, resonant bell tolled, causing the very foundations of the temple to shudder and dust to cascade down from the ceiling. Stiger halted just past the doorway, his heart pounding in his chest as the lingering reverberations echoed throughout the ancient structure.

He looked around, attempting to pierce the inky veil that was doing its best to envelope them. His efforts were fruitless. It was as if the shadows themselves were alive, resisting the magical glow emanating from his sword.

Within its depths, Stiger could hear the unsettling sound of claws scraping against the ancient stone and a low chittering. The noise seemed to come from all directions, except for the corridor they had just left behind.

Taha’Leeth moved to stand beside him, her eyes wide and alert, while Dog padded up to join them. The animal let out a deep, menacing growl that echoed through the vast chamber. For a moment, the scrabbling ceased, then it began again.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Stiger ventured another step into the void, followed by yet another. Taha’Leeth and Dog remained close. The scrabbling sounds and chittering only seemed to intensify. Stiger’s senses were heightened, and his heart pounded in his chest. The chilling symphony of unseen claws on stone grew louder, more intense, and as if hungry for blood, the living shadows seemed to close in around them.

“This is not how Harananos described the temple,” Stiger remarked, his voice betraying his confusion. “Not one bit.”

“That is because,” a voice responded from within the darkness somewhere ahead, “he saw what he expected to see, nothing more and nothing less. When you enter this holy place, you only carry with you that which you bring, including expectations.”

A light flared to life with a hiss in front of them. Whatever was in the surrounding darkness recoiled and sank deeper into the shadows.

Although still dim and insufficient, the light provided some respite from the all-consuming darkness. It emanated from a small metal lantern perched atop what initially appeared to be a stone box or table. Upon closer inspection, Stiger realized it was an altar.

Beside the altar stood a man of middle age, his black, unkempt hair contrasting sharply with his clean-shaven face. He was clad in a heavy gray cloak, which was draped over a forest green tunic and brown leather boots. Black gloves covered his hands. In the dim light, the man’s eyes appeared as dark voids, seemingly trying to absorb every last trace of the scant illumination from the lamp.

“Welcome, Champion of the High Father,” the stranger said, his voice bearing a distinctly imperial accent that was polished and refined. He spoke as a true-blooded noble might. “You clearly received my invitation.”

As Stiger studied the figure before him, he couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay hidden within the depths of this temple and how this man might be connected to the gods Lutha and Nyx. Despite the unease that continued to cling to the air, curiosity tugged at Stiger.

“I take it you held the Gate Key in safekeeping?” Stiger inquired. “You were the one who gave it to Harananos?”

“Indeed, I did,” the man confirmed, shifting his gaze toward Taha’Leeth. “We welcome you as well to these hallowed halls.”

Stiger, still wary, demanded, “Who are you?”

“I believe you can put that sword away,” the man suggested calmly, his eyes traveling to Rarokan. “You will not need it here.”

Stiger glanced down at the flaming blade, which winked out, as if extinguished by a strong gust of wind. He could no longer sense the connection to the power within, the spirit of the mad wizard whose soul was trapped inside. What had just happened? He’d felt no surge in will. Stiger fixed his gaze back on the stranger.

“You won’t be needing that cursed artifact,” the man reassured him, “not while you are here.”

The weight of uncertainty still heavy upon him, and with some hesitation, Stiger sheathed his sword.

“Thank you,” the man acknowledged. “That artifact you carry is a worry to us all. It is also a temptation, one that cannot be allowed, not here within the confines of these hallowed halls.”

“Who are you?” Stiger repeated, his curiosity growing more insistent and demanding.

“That is an excellent question,” the man replied. “I myself have forgotten. Over the ages, the long years, I have been known by many names. One is as good as another, I suppose. But you may address me by my imperial name. I am”—he placed a hand to his chest—“Davin.”

With Taha’Leeth on his right side and Dog on his left, Stiger stood before this mysterious individual, questions swirling in his mind. The air was thick with anticipation, and the shadows seemed to whisper secrets yet to be revealed.

Stiger took a cautious step closer, his eyes locked onto the man as he assessed the situation. He could now feel a formidable power emanating from Davin, a force more potent than anything he had ever encountered, even in comparison to Savast. It seemed to be steadily growing, like a mounting thunderstorm.

“Are you like Venthus?” Stiger inquired.

“Like him? No,” Davin replied with a shake of his head. “I am no paladin. However, Venthus and I share a history of service that spans the ages, maybe even eons. Time is a fickle fire in which we all burn. As you may one day learn, it passes all too quickly.”

“Then what are you?” Taha’Leeth pressed, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.

Davin’s attention shifted to her, his gaze scrutinizing her for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Middle Born—I am something of a remnant, what the High Masters call an anchor, a memory of what once possessed divine essence. I was left behind.”

“Are you saying you are, or were, a god?” Taha’Leeth asked, her eyes narrowing as she clearly tried to comprehend his cryptic response.

“That is an intriguing question,” Davin mused quietly, his gaze turning inward, as if searching his own soul. After a brief pause, he refocused on Taha’Leeth. “I am no god, not at this moment. Instead, consider me a weapon, a finely honed blade. I was forged for a purpose, forged for a reason, forged for a will … ”

Stiger went cold. He’d heard those words before. He reached into the small pouch attached to his armor harness and withdrew a tiny glass vial. He held it up for Davin to see, and the man’s eyes snapped onto the object, narrowing.

“Like this?” Stiger asked, gently waving the vial to emphasize his point.

“Yes,” Davin confirmed, “but unlike the twisted, I wasn’t summoned into this existence. I was deliberately created, transformed into the weapon. I am among the last of my kind … but there is one other. Though still righteous, she walks her own path.”

As Stiger absorbed this new information, the mystery of Davin only deepened. He was left with even more questions about the true nature of this being and his connection to the temple.

“You were one of the faithful,” Stiger deduced, piecing together the hints Davin had provided. “Then became something else?”

“I was blessed—imbued with my god’s powers, something similar to what you call will, but slightly different. I became what I am now, but it was too late. We had already lost the fight, the struggle—though we didn’t realize it then and not for some time. By then, the damage had been done.”

“You’re talking of the Last War,” Taha’Leeth interjected.

“No, I’m not,” Davin said plainly, his tone taking on a steely edge. “That is the struggle even now playing out upon Istros.”

“Then what do you speak of?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“It was the struggle, the fight between the High Father and”—Stiger pointed at Davin—“his two gods, Lutha and Nyx.”

“Our side lost, and yours—or rather, mine—prevailed.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Taha’Leeth protested. “Whose side are you on? How can you both lose and win?”

“It does make sense when you consider that time changes all things, perspective even,” Davin countered. “I would think you, an elf, should know that, and especially now that you have bonded yourself to him, one who was once human. That is anathema to your people, the thought of coupling with a human even worse, and yet, here you both are … ”

Taha’Leeth drew in a sharp, uneasy breath.

“And now you begin to see with new eyes, my dear,” Davin said. “You well know that of which I speak. Time alters perspective and even one’s position.”

“You are an ally of the High Father’s alignment now?” Stiger questioned, for just the thought of it sounded wrong. “Your gods are on our side? Is that what you are saying?”

“An ally? No. I am most definitely not, and neither is my patron,” Davin declared, then hesitated. “Not yet. There is something that must happen first and there is no guarantee it will.”

“Then what are you?” Stiger demanded.

“At the moment, an interested party.” Davin took a step closer. “One who wishes for your success in the Last War and something else, something that will save my flock and perhaps reinvigorate the faith.”

“You want the empire to succeed, to win,” Stiger stated incredulously. “It was the empire that helped to suppress your faith to begin with.”

“Suppress?” Davin’s tone grew hot and hard. “Your people did their best to stamp us out and nearly succeeded too, but we were never fully crushed.” Davin glanced over at the lantern on the altar. There was a sad look to his gaze. “Though I admit the time is fast approaching when our light just might be snuffed out forever. If that occurs, we shall be no more, and our gods will fade into oblivion.”

“Why are you helping us then?” Stiger asked. He was getting tired of the word games. “You and Venthus … even your gods have been aiding us in this fight against Valoor. Why are you interested, given that the empire tried its best to extinguish the light”—Stiger glanced around the shadowy chamber—“of your faith?”

Davin spread his arms out to either side. “If you can’t beat them … ”

“Join them?” Stiger finished.

“Something like that,” Davin confirmed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if it took effort and was a burden upon his soul. “I have worked tirelessly for centuries to reach this very moment, so that you and I … and your wife can be here.” He gestured at Taha’Leeth. “I have spent years tirelessly supporting and guiding the empire’s course, her direction, nudging her this way and then that. Now, we find ourselves in the end of days, as the Last War finally arrives on this world’s shores. The gods have stirred themselves to action. The proof lies in your yet-to-be-born child.”

Stiger shared a look with Taha’Leeth.

“Elf and human uniting in love,” Davin continued, “a union bearing fruit that would not have been possible without divine intervention. From your bond will come a child of both worlds, giving rise to a new race that one day will dominate Istros and, I believe, many other worlds. At least, I believe that is what your gods hope to happen. A phenomenon like this hasn’t occurred in a very long time. It is the ultimate culmination of my toil, my efforts … my life’s work.”

“And your interest in this?” Stiger inquired, his curiosity piqued. “Why spend centuries working toward this end? What do you want? What do you get out of it?”

“My faith … ” Davin began and then trailed off as the eerie scrabbling noises surrounding them intensified. Stiger wondered once more what unseen horrors lurked just beyond their sight.

“Your faith?” Stiger repeated, refocusing his attention on Davin. Comprehension suddenly dawned on him. “You want to bring your faith back into the open.”

Davin paused, casting a glance around him and into the encroaching darkness. “We can never be truly in the light, for we all are flawed—twisted to some degree—but the faithful can be accepted and tolerated … maybe even respected. That is my desire … my dream.”

“I don’t know about that,” Stiger countered, recalling recent events. “One of the twisted tried to kill me just a few days ago.”

“The twisted are misunderstood,” Davin insisted. “What you are referring to was a Savatacol. I felt its summoning and the creature’s tortured release. It was not a servant but a weapon of war, one of the mad ones, plucked from a level and plane that is best left alone. There are precious few of those weapons remaining.”

“You speak of the remnants of the war between the High Father and your gods?” Stiger queried.

“No,” Davin responded, his expression clouded with melancholy. “It was a war initiated by your people against mine. Our gods did not fight against one another, did not drive the faithful into a holy war. We coexisted until mortals thought otherwise. It was the leaders on both sides who ignored the gods’ desires. They thought they knew better, failed to listen, turned their gazes away from the divine and warred upon one another.”

Stiger wasn’t entirely convinced by Davin’s explanation. To him, the man’s gods were evil, repugnant, their followers practicing dark and forbidden arts. That’s what he had been taught, what he had witnessed firsthand in the High Priestess’s office. And yet, Venthus, a paladin of Lutha and Nyx, had been actively assisting him, and the High Father was okay with that. The entire situation defied logic, explanation, leaving Stiger confounded by the apparent contradictions.

“I am not the enemy of your god, or his alignment,” Davin asserted firmly, “and neither are Lutha and Nyx.”

Stiger’s gaze fell upon the vial in his hand, its contents representing what he thought to be pure evil. Just holding it and carrying the vial upon his person made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

“There are precious few of those left,” Davin remarked, his eyes fixed on the vial. “Over the centuries, I have done my best to track down those weapons that remained unused and liberate the creatures trapped within, allowing them to move on and return to where they belong.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Taha’Leeth challenged.

“Belief, like everything else, is a choice,” Davin responded. “There are those with the knowledge to wield such dread weapons. Over the long years, I have punished all I discovered, giving their souls over to my master for ultimate judgment.”

“And what of this?” Stiger extended the vial toward Davin. “Would you free this monster as well? Your own paladin bestowed it upon me. Now, why would he do that?”

Davin approached Stiger and held out his hand, palm up. The intention was clear. Stiger hesitated, then handed the vial over. Carefully, Davin lifted the small glass container to his eyes and scrutinized it. He closed his eyes, remaining motionless for an extended period. When he reopened them, he presented the vial back to Stiger, holding it out.

“I would not destroy this one,” Davin revealed, “for it is not a Savatacol, but a Savataceel. The twisted that placed itself within this prison was not coerced but came willingly of its own accord. This creature is unique and powerful. You must accept it, for such was its faith that it has freely offered itself, and Venthus has given it to you. That alone is a great honor, one that does not come along often.”

“What if I do not want it back?” Stiger questioned.

“Again, it comes down to free will. That said, you would be a fool not to accept it,” Davin insisted. “There are those who would slay you without hesitation to further their cause. In a critical moment, this Savataceel may be all that stands between you and your foes’ ambitions being realized.” His gaze shifted to Taha’Leeth. “It may even save the life of the one you love, who now carries your unborn child.”

Taha’Leeth shifted uncomfortably at that, glancing over at Stiger, who kept his gaze fixed on the man before them. Despite Davin’s words, Stiger hesitated to take the proffered vial back.

“Much like your people,” Davin asserted, “you struggle to comprehend that which you despise, and struggle against. This lack of understanding led your people to wage war upon mine and mine yours. Do not believe me? Search within. Ask the High Father for the truth.”

Stiger regarded Davin for an extended moment before closing his eyes. He reached inward, tapping into his connection with the High Father—the inner flame that burned within him. Instantly, he felt a comforting warmth and found himself enveloped in his god’s love. At the same time, the feeling was somewhat muted, as if the temple they were in struggled against his connection.

Are Lutha and Nyx our enemy?

Immediately, his connection with the High Father shifted from love to anger and disappointment, frustration even. Stiger was shaken by the intensity of the emotions that reverberated within him.

No. They are not our enemy, my son.

Stiger’s eyes snapped open, and he stumbled backward, for he had not expected a direct answer or the force of emotion that came with it.

“So, you see,” Davin said, his voice tinged with exhaustion that was almost palpable, “we are not enemies and never were.”

Stiger glanced at Taha’Leeth. “He is correct.”

“On other worlds,” Taha’Leeth addressed Davin, “your kind are reviled, shunned, hunted, recognized as the enemy for their heinous actions.”

“They are or were,” Davin conceded regretfully. “It stems from a lack of understanding. We are largely misunderstood.” He gestured toward the darkness, where Stiger could still hear the scrabbling of claws. “Most of the twisted are harmless, incapable of hurting others, causing injury. All they wish is to coexist and serve as they were summoned to do.”

“And what of Venthus?” Stiger inquired. “He has been quite eager to offer his services, to do my dirty work. Even now, he murders enemies on my behalf.”

“Venthus is a creature of war, a dedicated soldier. He does what he does on behalf of Nyx. She guides his steps, directs his efforts, which led him to Delvaris and then ultimately to you. Like me, he works toward a return, acceptance of the faithful. That is his ultimate goal. However, he goes about it in his own way.”

“Even if it involves murder?” Stiger pressed.

“Despite everything we have endured, our methods matter little to us at this point,” Davin said. “Venthus is an instrument of death. He excels at killing those who stand in our way. He has become intimately acquainted with the ferryman, and that is how he mainly serves. And to do a job well, to really appreciate it, you need to enjoy the work.”

“And you?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“What about me?”

“How do you serve?” she persisted. “Do you enjoy your work too?”

As if in response, thunder cracked, causing the temple to tremble and shake. In the darkness, frightened shrieks echoed out at them. Stiger blinked, and where Davin had stood, a powerful barbarian warrior with a wild beard and wearing animal pelts towered over them. At least seven feet tall, he wielded a war axe in one hand and an enormous sword in the other, with a collection of human skulls dangling from his belt.

As if a storm was about to break, the thunder rumbled violently again, and Stiger felt an overwhelming presence invade the room. It pulsed in waves, threatening to overwhelm his mind, his consciousness, forcing him and Taha’Leeth to their knees. The sheer strength of the presence made Stiger feel insignificant, puny, and powerless under its might. The vastness of this mind was unfathomable, and Stiger knew, without a doubt, that they were in the presence of a god.

“I AM LUTHA!”

With another burst of thunder, the god vanished, and Davin reappeared in his place, staggering slightly and grabbing the altar for support. The all-consuming presence that had filled the temple had gone. Stiger and Taha’Leeth, both shaken, pulled themselves slowly to their feet.

“I assume,” Davin said sadly, gazing at them with sorrowful eyes as he straightened, “you have just met Lutha.”

Stiger could only nod.

“That is my purpose, for a fragment of the divine resides within me. You could say, I am who I am.”

“What is it that you want?” Stiger inquired, his voice barely above a whisper, for he could still feel the aftereffects of the god’s presence, which had hammered against his mind. “I want to be sure so that there can be no misunderstandings.”

“Acceptance,” Davin replied. “If you grant us that, we will live peacefully alongside you, joining forces against the dark tide that endangers this world. If you fall, our faith falls with you, for on Istros, we are all that remains of the flock. Nowhere else does it exist.”

Stiger was at a loss for words. The depth of his people’s hatred and loathing for Davin’s faith was so profound he was unsure if he even had the power to grant such a request, let alone pull it off. There would be many who would not accept such an accommodation.

“When all is said and done,” Davin continued, “help us construct proper and public temples to Lutha and Nyx in Mal’Zeel. Help us demonstrate to your people that we pose no threat, mean no harm—that we stand united with the High Father, who will welcome us into his alignment. Give us a chance to peacefully thrive and grow alongside those others of your alignment. That is all we ask, all we desire. The twisted will not kill without reason, and they will not abduct people in the dead of night. On that you have my word. We cannot do this without you … for you alone, as Champion, must accept us. That is what I have worked and toiled to bring about—this moment.”

Stiger hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing upon him. “And what of the weapons of the last war? What of followers of your faith who misuse the twisted for malicious purposes?”

“Can you claim that all followers of the High Father are virtuous, with honor, refraining from theft and murder?” Davin countered.

“No,” Stiger conceded, “I cannot. There are just some who are bad apples.”

“Much like those of your faith, there will be outliers in ours as well, those who transgress, who make poor choices. They will be punished, but if you accept us, we will collaborate and work with you, fight with you. Though we are few, we will be allies in the struggle to come.”

Stiger glanced at Taha’Leeth. “What do you think?”

Before she could respond, Dog sauntered toward Davin. The man looked down at the canine in clear surprise before offering his hand to sniff. Dog investigated for a moment, then wagged his tail some and licked Davin’s proffered hand.

“I think that is my answer,” Taha’Leeth declared softly. “Besides, we need all the allies we can muster, and he is offering to help in the fight to come.”

“I am,” Davin said. “Those remaining few of the faith will join and fight alongside you, myself included.”

Stiger returned his gaze to Davin. The man, now stroking Dog’s head, stared back intently. Stiger could sense the hunger in the man’s dark-eyed gaze, the powerful desire for acceptance. The eerie scrabbling and chittering noises had ceased, leaving the temple in eerie and absolute silence.

“Can I trust you?” Stiger inquired, aware of the naïveté in his question even as he uttered the words.

“As long as you do not betray my own,” Davin replied, extending the glass vial, once again offering it back to Stiger.

“Very well,” Stiger said, accepting the vial. “You are welcome to join us, and when this is all over, I will help you construct temples to Lutha and Nyx in Mal’Zeel. I will do all I can for your people and try to forge harmony … and maybe a little understanding, once I understand your people myself. But be warned, what you seek, your dream, may be long in coming.”

The man gave a nod. Then, as if in relief, he closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped. “Long have I awaited those words. My life’s work has finally started to bear fruit.” His eyes opened, revealing catlike, yellow-tinged irises. Gone was the darkness. “Do not leave without me. I will join you shortly and travel with you as you move against the tribes.”

“You know of that?” Stiger asked, surprised. “You know of where I go next?”

“I know a great deal. Wait for me, for you may have need of my services in the days ahead, especially when confronting the tribes.”

“I will,” Stiger said.

Thunder rumbled once more, and the light on the altar extinguished itself, plunging them into darkness. A smidgen of light appeared, then some more. Moments later, light fully returned, as if a black mist had been swept away by a strong wind. The sky opened up above them, and the biting wind and cold resumed its assault upon their persons.

Stiger found himself in the middle of the ruins of what had once been a temple. Davin was gone, vanished. Snow and ice blanketed much of the stone floor. Shattered columns and crumbling walls surrounded them, with only the altar remaining seemingly unscathed, but heavily weathered by the elements.

The lamp still rested upon the altar’s top. It looked out of place. Glancing around, he guessed this was the true face of the temple, an ancient ruin, a monument to a past which no longer existed in the present. What he’d seen when they had arrived had clearly been an illusion, a product of priestly magic.

As the wind swirled, stirring the loose snow around their feet, Stiger turned to his wife. In the daylight, what he had just agreed to felt more real than it had a moment ago. “What have I committed us to? What have I done?”

“You’ve done what was necessary to secure our future,” Taha’Leeth reassured him. “There is nothing more important than that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The dragon altered her course slightly, allowing Stiger to see through a break in the dense, billowy clouds just below them. From their altitude, the shaded landscape under the cloud cover appeared almost like a miniature model, each detail meticulously crafted.

Late afternoon sunlight struggled to pierce the cloud cover, casting the land in a somber, subdued hue of gray. It took Stiger a moment to process the scene through the gap in the clouds and recognize what he was looking at.

Perched on the crest of a broad hill, the garrison of Nebernacum loomed nearly directly beneath them. The garrison, really a large citadel, was square in design. The interior looked neatly laid out and organized, with plenty of space between the walls and any interior buildings, a plain defensive consideration.

The citadel had clearly been designed by imperial engineers to take advantage of the natural defenses of the hill upon which it stood. The position had been chosen well, for the hill appeared tall and the slopes steep, with only one road leading up to its main gate. Stiger could tell it would not be an easy nut for the enemy to crack, even with just one legion occupying the position, not to mention two, along with several additional auxiliary cohorts.

Stiger looked down and gave a troubled frown. The enemy had surrounded the citadel with an intricate network of siege works farther down the slope and toward the bottom of the hill. To make matters worse for the defenders, the tribesmen had built a series of walls and trenches ringing the entire hill. The purpose was plain, to keep the defenders from attempting a sortie or breaking out.

Stiger could make out several menacing catapults and an expansive fortified encampment nestled about a quarter mile from the base of the hill, which he deduced to be the enemy’s main camp. Thousands of people below, both inside the citadel and outside, were in plain view. All looked the size of ants.

On the opposite side of the hill from the enemy’s camp, a town had sprung up next to the fortress dominating the hill. That typically happened when legions were stationed in an area on a permanent basis, as people were attracted by not only security, but also opportunity.

The town was nothing more than a ruin now, having been thoroughly razed. To deny anything of use to the enemy, Stiger suspected, the defenders were responsible for the destruction. It was what he would have done were he in their place.

Snow-covered farm fields surrounded the hill. They were quite extensive too, which told him they not only supported the townspeople, but also supplemented the legion’s rations as well.

Motion below drew his attention as one of the catapults released a large stone that seemed more boulder than anything else. As if in slow motion, the stone flew at one of the walls, where it impacted with a solid thud that Stiger could only faintly hear over the wind rushing in his ears.

Then, the clouds swiftly enveloped them once again. The landscape he had been admiring moments ago vanished as if it had never existed. The swirling, dense clouds closed in around them tightly. It was as if they had entered an entirely different realm, one that was both beautiful and eerie in its own way. As they continued to fly through the clouds, the air rapidly grew colder and damp, making the already unbearable cold seep deeper into his bones.

Stovan spoke in Stiger’s mind. Did you see everything you needed to see?

“No, I didn’t,” Stiger shouted into the wind, his voice barely audible over the rushing air. “That said—it was enough. How far away is our camp from where the army is forming?”

About thirty of your miles to the east, Stovan replied.

“That close?” Stiger called back, surprised. He had expected it to be farther out and away from the enemy, allowing time for his army to fully arrive and properly concentrate before going into action. That they were so near their objective increased the chances of discovery greatly.

The terrain to the east is dominated by dense forests and a series of imposing hills. I understand the location is in an isolated valley and was chosen by your Tribune Ikely. It is not too far from a road that travels west to the garrison, but the camp and assembly area is still out of the way. Unless someone specifically goes looking, they should not find it in the short term. At least, that is how it has been explained to me.

“How do you know this?” Stiger asked, for the dragon had been with him the entire time since leaving Treim’s army. From the temple, they had come straight here, a journey of five long days.

My kind are able to communicate over long distances, Stovan said. I have been talking to those nearest for the last hour or so.

“Really?” Stiger was thoroughly surprised by that. “How far away can you talk to another?”

Easy communication … a hundred of your miles, no more. Farther than that is difficult and akin to your shouting … if I did that, others could hear, potentially those we would wish not.

Stiger filed that information away for future use. It might come in handy. “Others, like who?”

Anyone who knows how to listen, Stovan explained. The enemy maybe. It would give away my location too. Unless absolutely needed, long distance communication is something we generally try to avoid.

Stiger was silent for a long moment as he absorbed that little tidbit of information. If the enemy could listen in, did it mean they were? It was an intriguing line of thought and potentially opened opportunities to mislead or even call for help should it become needed. His thoughts shifted back to the citadel atop the hill.

“And to the west of the garrison is the Barrens?” Stiger inquired, seeking confirmation and to get his bearings.

Correct, Stovan affirmed. The dragon shifted subtly, banking to the side as her powerful wings beat against the air. We were traveling in a southerly direction when you saw the garrison. When we have put some distance between us and the siege, I will drop down below the cloud cover to provide you with a clearer view, so you can see the surrounding terrain for yourself.

“That sounds good,” Stiger agreed, casting a sideways glance at Taha’Leeth. The swirling clouds were so thick that he could barely discern her presence just a few feet away. Wrapped securely in a heavy blanket, she leaned over closer and offered him an exaggerated, conspiratorial wink.

Then, Stovan began her descent. Stiger’s stomach lurched as they plummeted through the clouds, breaking free of their confines and skimming just below their lower edge. They were so close to the clouds, Stiger was almost tempted to reach up and touch them.

Off in the distance, about four miles away, the besieged garrison came into view once more. Between their current position and Nebernacum, a sprawling expanse of forested hills and valleys stretched outward.

Dotted here and there amongst the trees and hills were a few isolated farmsteads that had been carved from the wilderness. The closest of these appeared to have been razed, the house and barn reduced by fire. Stiger could clearly see charred beams and blackened ground around where the structures had been.

All told, it looked like some difficult terrain. Stiger turned his gaze back toward Nebernacum. Beyond the fortress, a vast, flat, indistinct gray and white area sprawled outward. It was almost foreboding. Stiger surmised that this must be the beginning of the Barrens.

With a mighty beat of her wings, Stovan propelled them back into the cover of the clouds, explaining, I dare not risk exposing us for longer than necessary. I do not believe you wish the enemy alerted to our presence. If they have wyrms, that might prove a complication.

“I do not, and I understand,” Stiger acknowledged. Then he became concerned. “Do you think they have wyrms?”

Stovan was quiet for a long moment. We have not observed any in the area. However, the Cyphan have wyrms and they are allied to those below, yes?

“That’s right,” Stiger said.

Then it is possible there is a flight nearby, one we have yet to discover.

“That is not a cheery thought.”

No, it is not. Do you need to see more? Stovan inquired, her tone laced with clear concern.

“I am good,” Stiger reassured the dragon. “Let’s head to the army. I am sure, once there, I can get a detailed report.”

The dragon banked to the right, then her wings beat with renewed vigor, lifting them higher up and into the sky. The bitterly cold wind roared in Stiger’s face as they climbed back above the clouds and emerged into the fading sunlight of the day.

The sun hovered low over the western sky, casting the horizon in a warm, golden glow. Soon, night would fall and then the temperatures would really begin to drop. Stiger was already cold and shivered at just the thought of it.

As the dragon bore them eastward, the clouds beneath began to thin ever so slightly, passing over to a serene vista of puffy, white formations with patches of ground occasionally in view. Stiger’s blanket, damp from their prolonged journey through the clouds, clung to him uncomfortably.

He glanced around to check on his companions. Ruga’s legionaries and Wast were all securely fastened, their heads wrapped tightly in blankets to protect against the biting and bitter cold. Only their eyes were visible as they gazed about.

The gnome had secured himself near the edge, right behind the dragon’s wings. He was peering down at the clouds passing serenely below them. Stiger could well imagine the gnome’s fascination and interest. Out of everyone, he seemed to be the only one truly enjoying himself.

Held tight by several straps and wrapped in a warm blanket, Dog was fastened next to Davin and appeared to be sleeping. Stiger scrutinized Davin for a prolonged moment. Bundled up against the biting cold like the rest, Davin seemed to be asleep as well, for his head lolled to one side.

The man represented an unpredictable element in their midst. He was undeniably a force to be reckoned with, and Stiger couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease surrounding him, deep concern even.

Davin had access to a god’s power—a power whose true extent remained a mystery and, quite frankly, was beyond Stiger’s comprehension. Though Davin had pledged himself to their cause, Stiger was acutely aware that trust was not something to be given blindly.

Trust was a fragile bond that needed to be nurtured and earned over time. The importance of loyalty could not be overstated. That was one of the reasons he’d been able to get to this point, loyalty of others and their dedication to the cause.

Stiger intended on keeping a watchful eye on Davin. He would learn more about the man and the true depth of his allegiance soon enough. With some good fortune, in time, Davin would prove himself a trustworthy ally, someone Stiger could rely upon. And if he proved otherwise, Stiger was unsure what he could do about it other than kill him. However, he was not quite certain he could do even that, especially after witnessing a measure of the man’s power.

Stiger caught Taha’Leeth’s gaze. She had been looking over at him, watching.

“It will be fine,” she reassured him over the rushing wind, as if she could read his troubled mind. “It will be just fine.”

Uncertain about that, Stiger gave a nod, then redirected his attention forward. The wind whistled through his helmet as the dragon flew onward. The cold was beginning to take its toll as well, and he yearned for the flight to end, to reach their destination.

The skin on his cheeks felt numb and stiff. He realized he had forgotten to re-tie the small blanket meant to shield his face from the freezing wind. He had taken it off to better observe the garrison and the surrounding terrain. Taha’Leeth had done the same. As he rewrapped the blanket around his helmet and secured it in place, his wife followed suit.

Stovan spread her powerful wings outward to their full extent, the intricate patterns of her metallic-like scales along her back glinting as they reflected the fading sunlight. Seeming to sense a gust of air approaching, she tilted her massive body to align with the wind’s changing direction, her keen instincts and experience clearly guiding her movements. As the wind surged around them, Stovan expertly adjusted the angle of her wings, finding the optimal position to catch the updraft.

Much like an eagle soaring effortlessly through the skies, Stovan harnessed the natural power of the air currents to carry them forward, moving them ever closer to their destination. Stiger could only envy the dragon’s innate connection with the elements that enabled her to navigate the unseen highways of wind with ease, minimizing the effort required for their journey.

The smooth motion of her wings as they held the air, at times seeming to almost flutter, painted a picture of grace and harmony as they glided high above the clouds.

As they flew onward, the sun behind them continued its steady journey toward the horizon, casting elongated shadows on the clouds ahead and bathing them in a radiant pinkish-orange hue.

Stiger couldn’t help but admire the view. It was awe-inspiring, breathtaking even. As he glanced over, he wondered what his wife thought of it. All bundled up, she was looking off to the left and away from him. Stifling a yawn, Stiger turned his gaze ahead of them and watched silently as the dragon carried them forward. After a time, he found he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. Eventually, he surrendered and allowed the oblivion of sleep to take him.

Prepare yourself, Stovan warned abruptly. We are about to land.

Blinking, Stiger hadn’t realized he had dozed off. Darkness had enveloped the sky around him, with the moon high above, shining brilliantly down upon them. Stiger stretched. He felt sore, stiff, and more than ready to have his feet on the ground.

The dragon began to descend and pick up speed. They drew nearer to the clouds and, a few heartbeats later, plunged back into them. The clouds completely blocked out the moon and reduced visibility to near blackness.

Then, they emerged through the cloud layer. Wings fully outspread, the dragon shifted to the right slightly, seeming to correct course, then dropped in a steady glide down toward the dark, shadowy ground below.

Ahead, approximately a quarter of a mile away, Stiger spotted light. It came from hundreds of fires grouped close together. Excitement surged through him as they drew steadily nearer, for he well knew what it was they were approaching. Then they were swooping over the camp, the smell of smoke on the air, the flash of people below, tents …

Stovan angled toward an open area ahead, likely where the dragon intended to set down. Passing the camp, Stiger peered through the darkness, seeing what looked like a patchwork of overgrown fields before them as they dropped lower and lower, coming ever closer to the ground.

The dragon reared back and furiously began beating her wings, working to slow their speed as they approached the last few yards to the ground. Bracing himself against the dragon’s spike to his front, Stiger prepared for the impact, the moment they would touch down.

As expected, a jolt shook him as the dragon landed on her hind legs. Then she came down on her front legs, throwing him forward. She walked a few steps before coming to a halt, rocking those upon her back almost violently. Stovan then folded her wings and, after a slight hesitation, lay down.

As Stiger was about to untie his restraints, three dragons emerged from the darkness off to his left. With mighty beats of their leathery wings, one after another, they touched down, landing just yards away from them.

Hundreds of gnomes were secured to the nearest dragon’s back. In the distance, just beyond them, yet another dragon took to the sky, wings beating at the air. This dragon, white in color, rapidly gained altitude with each powerful flap. The creature flew right over the top of them. The wind generated by the wings was immense.

Stiger turned his attention back to the dragon closest to him. The gnomes were hastily untying themselves, while those who were already free scrambled their way down the colossal beast’s sides. He noted a few gnomes trying to use the dragon’s body to slide down, the beast’s rough scales causing them to howl in pain, discomfort, and surprise as they ended up tumbling to the ground before they even made it halfway.

To the side, standing by torches, other gnomes were waiting. These directed the newcomers, pointing them toward the camp, more than four hundred yards distant. Stiger also saw a hulking Vass not too far off, watching and directing the gnomes as well.

An intense wave of satisfaction washed over Stiger. He made a fist and shook it. His plan was working. Like the Vass had done over the Narrow Sea, he was now transporting an army to the enemy’s doorstep, and they didn’t even know it.

I do not like this, human, grumbled the dragon that had landed to Stiger’s left. Her head had snaked around, and she was looking directly at him. Despite the darkness, the dragon’s metallic scales shimmered with a fiery, vibrant red hue that seemed to radiate a sense of power and intensity. You may be the High Father’s Champion, and I one of the faithful, but I do not much enjoy this—ferrying gnomes about like I am a common beast of burden. It is humiliating.

“I understand how you feel,” Stiger replied, “and you are no beast of burden, not in my eyes, but an ally, one who I value greatly. It may seem demeaning, but it is not. This job is necessary and a step toward our ultimate victory. You bring the gnomes here to kill our enemies and that’s what they will do, and you use much less will doing it than by taking direct action.”

Bah! the dragon scoffed in his mind. When this is over, I’ll have my mate cleanse me with his flame to rid myself of any potential vermin. There is no telling what these gnomes carry. They are all likely diseased too. Just the thought of it sickens me. I am already itchy.

The dragon gave a shiver, shaking the gnomes on her back and almost tossing a few to the ground. Disaster was only averted as those gnomes thrown off balance hastily grabbed onto a scale or a spike and held on for dear life.

“What is your name?” Stiger asked.

Carin’Phax, the dragon responded with an air of pride.

“Well met, Carin’Phax. You have my gratitude for all that you are doing.”

Using one of her claws, she dug a deep furrow in the ground. Stiger took it to be an act of irritation. As if disgusted by his response, the dragon turned away and ended the link, closing it off. He understood the conversation was over.

She is young, Stovan said, and impetuous.

“Thank you also, Stovan,” Stiger said. “You have rendered great service these last few days.”

Stovan snaked her head around so that she was looking directly at Stiger. The dragon inclined her head slightly.

“Come, husband,” Taha’Leeth called, drawing Stiger’s attention away from the fearsome creature. She had already freed herself and stood waiting beside him with her pack on her back, bow in hand, along with a bundle of arrows. “Don’t you wish to get to headquarters and take command?”

So fascinated had he been by the dragons landing and taking off, Stiger hadn’t even begun to untie his restraints. He removed the small blanket around his face, then began loosening the leather straps. As he worked, another dragon landed nearby.

A series of shrill, high-pitched cheers and excited shrieks from the gnomes riding atop its back reached him. Stiger just shook his head. Clearly, he had found an activity beyond killing orcs that the gnomes enjoyed.

Finishing the last knot and suddenly free of restraint holding him to Stovan’s back, Stiger climbed to his feet. Davin approached, his gaze sweeping over the dragons and the hundreds of gnomes climbing to the ground or streaming around the dragons and moving toward the camp.

“Wast,” Stiger said, looking around and spotting the gnome. Carrying his pack upon his back, the gnome had been about to climb down the dragon. He stopped and looked up.

“What?” the gnome asked. “What you want?”

“Find your legion,” Stiger said. “Make sure they are settled in and there will be no trouble, and when I mean no trouble, I mean absolutely no trouble. Then report to headquarters.”

The gnome gave a nod and then disappeared down the side of the dragon.

“I have lived a very long life,” Davin said wistfully, “but I have never seen anything like this. What you are doing here is truly impressive.”

Stiger had to agree as he turned his gaze back to the overgrown fields. There were at least seven dragons present, most of which had clearly just arrived and were waiting for their gnomes to climb down.

“It is quite a sight,” Davin breathed.

“Isn’t it?” Stiger said, grinning savagely. What lay before them represented taking the initiative. “I believe the tribes of the Barrens will soon be in for rather a rude awakening.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

As Stiger ducked inside, the bustling atmosphere within the headquarters tent enveloped him. Despite the lateness of the hour, over a dozen clerks, hunched over desks, were diligently attending to their tasks. Overhead, hanging lanterns cast a warm, flickering glow that danced on the tent’s canvas walls, casting shadows that seemed to mimic the clerks’ energetic movements.

At the far end of the tent, gathered around a large oak table laden with wax tablets, stood Ikely, a Vass, and a female elf dressed as a ranger in forest green and brown. Their heads were bent as they quietly conversed, intently studying a map that lay sprawled across the center of the table’s surface.

“Sir,” Nepturus exclaimed, his voice tinged with surprise as he glanced up from his desk near the entrance. Several wax tablets lay neatly stacked upon his desk. Using a metal stylus, the clerk had been writing on one of the tablets. Overcoming his surprise, Stiger’s old head clerk started to rise, but Stiger held up a hand, signaling for the man to remain seated.

“No need to get up,” Stiger said, approaching the desk. Nepturus, once a capable legionary, had been critically injured in a fight, taking a grievous leg wound that had nearly cost him his life. He’d managed, against expectations, to survive.

The wound had left him disabled, at least when it came to extended marching. He now walked with a noticeable and painful limp. Blessed with the ability to read, write, and tabulate numbers rapidly and accurately, he had been an exemplary soldier on his way up the promotion ladder to the centurionate. The wound had ruined all that.

Instead of being discharged as disabled, like most in his circumstances, Stiger’s ancestor and predecessor, Delvaris, had reassigned Nepturus to headquarters and given the man a new chance at serving the empire. It had likely originally been meant as a kindness, a thank you for past service. Motivated, diligent, detail-oriented, and hardworking, Nepturus thrived as a clerk and was now likely more valuable to the legion than he had ever been as a legionary. Stiger had inherited the man when he’d taken command of the Thirteenth and had found him indispensable, though he was now technically Salt’s head clerk.

“How are things here?” Stiger asked.

“A little hectic, sir,” the clerk admitted, just as Taha’Leeth stepped inside the tent behind Stiger. “Tribune Ikely brought me to help bring order to the madness.” Nepturus tapped the tablet he had been writing on. “We’re trying to tally and account for everyone coming in. The gnomes make it harder. They’re so damn small and they don’t wait to be counted once they arrive. They have no patience for such things. It’s really maddening, sir. There is also the fact we’ve lost a few in transit.”

“Lost, how?” Stiger asked.

“Somehow they manage to fall off the dragons, sir.” Nepturus gestured at the back of the tent. Cragg was at the table too. Stiger had not initially seen him. “Cragg doesn’t seem terribly concerned by it. I dunno how it happens … they might just get bored and untie themselves during flight.” Nepturus gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

“I can only imagine,” Stiger said, and well he could. “Don’t worry about it too much. They are gnomes and it’s hard to figure them out on the best of days.”

Taha’Leeth drew Nepturus’s attention as she moved up to Stiger’s side. The clerk stood up stiffly from his stool and inclined his head respectfully. “Ma’am.”

“Ah, Nepturus,” Taha’Leeth said with warmth. “So good to see you again. How are you?”

“I am well, ma’am.”

“That is good to hear. Is there a tent set aside for our use?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nepturus replied, “your tent has been erected right behind the administrative tent in its customary place. We weren’t sure when to expect you, but just as soon as we arrived, I had it put up anyway. Do you wish me to have your fire started and some warm food sent over? One of the elven rangers brought in a buck this morning. It’s been roasting over a fire, and I believe the cooking’s done.”

“A good fire and some hearty fare will be more than welcome,” Stiger said, his stomach rumbling at the thought of some warm food.

“Yes, please,” Taha’Leeth said gratefully. “Once we are done here, we will be retiring for the evening.”

“We’ve had several long, cold days of travel with little to no sleep,” Stiger explained.

“I understand, sir. I will take care of it right away, and once you turn in for the night, I will leave orders you both are not to be disturbed.”

“Thank you.”

Leaving Nepturus to his duties, Stiger turned his attention to the group gathered around the table at the back of the tent. He navigated through the maze of tables and chairs, drawing closer to the trio. Stiger recognized the warden. That she was here did not surprise him overly much, for it was part of the plan … his plan in motion. Si’Cara was the first to notice Stiger’s approach. The others turned to follow her gaze.

Stiger’s eyes were instead drawn to the Vass. A tiger-like creature with two arms and two legs, as a man would have, he was covered in orange-and-black-patterned fur. The Vass’s face bore striking feline features. Clad in black attire, he wore a chainmail shirt that came to his knees. Towering at nearly eight feet, he had to hunch slightly, for the tent’s ceiling was too low to accommodate his imposing and hulking stature.

“Ah, the human emperor. We were beginning to wonder when you would grace us with your presence,” the Vass rumbled, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to reverberate with primal ferocity. “You set this plan in motion and then went on your way. You left us with the gnomes.”

“I had something to attend to,” Stiger replied, his tone measured but on guard, for the greeting had been far from friendly. If anything, it had been a challenge. Although he was near certain he had encountered this particular Vass before, Stiger struggled to differentiate between individual Vass.

“Jeskix, I believe,” Taha’Leeth interjected, rescuing Stiger from the awkwardness of having to inquire. “Knight of the Vass.”

Jeskix inclined his massive head with a hint of deference. “I am Knight Commander of the mission. At least when it comes to my people, I have that great honor.”

“Cousin,” Taha’Leeth said, turning to address Si’Cara, her voice warm with affection. “It is very good to see you again.”

“And you too, cousin,” Si’Cara responded, her eyes shining with apparent genuine delight. Her tone was filled with as much warmth as Taha’Leeth’s.

Stiger was surprised by the overt display of emotion on both sides. Then understanding dawned. They were playing a game. It was one of their own making. Stiger decided he did not like it, not one bit, for he did not understand its purpose.

“Cragg,” Stiger acknowledged the gnome, who was perched on a stool. He had clearly chosen the stool to better view the table. The gnome did not reply, just simply stared back at Stiger, expression inscrutable. After a moment, Stiger turned to his tribune. “Ikely, can you … ?”

Before Stiger could finish his sentence, Jeskix stiffened, his gaze sliding past Stiger toward the entrance of the tent. Following the Vass’s line of sight, Stiger spotted Davin. The newcomer’s eyes darted around the interior of the tent before locking onto Jeskix with an unwavering intensity. Stiger saw the man’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“What is that doing here?” Jeskix snarled, his voice deep, menacing, and loud. All activity within the headquarters tent ceased. The Vass jabbed a finger accusatorily in the direction of Davin, who, after a brief moment of hesitation, strode confidently toward the table. Davin seemed wholly unfazed and untroubled by the towering Vass’s imposing presence and open displeasure.

“I would like to know that as well,” Si’Cara chimed in, her gaze fixed on Davin with the same caution one might reserve for a venomous serpent. She regarded him warily, as if expecting him to strike at any moment.

“He is with us,” Stiger declared, his voice steady and resolute. He understood he should have anticipated this reaction, especially from the warden. He should have planned for it. That he hadn’t was a mistake, and one he might pay dearly for. Then there was the Vass. How had Jeskix known who Davin was and represented?

“What do you mean, ‘with us’?” Si’Cara demanded, tearing her gaze away from Davin. “Explain.”

“I have joined the fight,” Davin interjected, his eyes meeting Stiger’s. “I suppose, in a manner of speaking, you could say I was invited to this party, as was my god.”

“Invited?” Si’Cara’s incredulous gaze shifted to Stiger, her eyes blazing with a barely contained fury. “Why would you invite such a being? He worships a dark and vile god.”

Jeskix growled menacingly. “Your god is—”

“Not an enemy of yours, Vass,” Davin interrupted, “and never was—you know this to be true.”

“Aye, that I do,” Jeskix, after a slight hesitation, conceded grudgingly, “but I do not have to approve of your kind.”

“No, you don’t, but here I am,” Davin countered, glancing over at Stiger, “at the invitation of the High Father and his Champion no less.”

“He and his gods have committed to our cause,” Stiger said in a firm tone, asserting his authority within the tent, or at least trying to. Neither Si’Cara nor Jeskix answered to him, let alone Cragg.

“Is that what he told you?” Si’Cara asked quietly, her tone heavy with disbelief. “I was there for the war between his people and yours. It was brutal and unforgiving in the extreme. Many died on both sides. To end the bloodshed, I eventually brought my people in, and even then, it was not an easy thing putting his people down.”

“Yes, you did, a friend turning upon a friend,” Davin admitted, his tone clearly unhappy, “and ultimately helped the empire hunt down, kill, and murder most of the faithful. Your people joining the war broke the back of mine. We were almost exterminated.”

“It was necessary and ultimately stopped the violence,” Si’Cara argued, “and ended your people’s perversions.”

Davin was about to reply when Stiger held up a hand to the man.

“We are putting all of that aside,” Stiger said. “It is imperative that we do so. We cannot afford to bicker and fight amongst ourselves. Davin has committed himself to our cause.”

“And you feel you can trust him?” Si’Cara challenged. “Need I remind you, trust is earned, not blindly given?”

“Aye, it is,” Davin agreed, “and provided time, I will prove his trust is not misplaced.”

“He is allied with us. That is the end of it.” Stiger punctuated his words with a decisive chopping motion of his hand. “We have more pressing concerns, such as the enemy being only miles away, and in great strength too.”

“And what if I object to this madness and choose to leave, taking my warriors with me?” Jeskix inquired, his voice tinged with defiance. “What if I elect to go my separate way?”

“Though I would prefer it otherwise, that is your choice.” Stiger met the Vass’s piercing gaze unflinchingly. The intensity of the creature’s stare was fearsome, animalistic, predatory, and Stiger had to muster all his willpower not to avert his eyes. He felt his anger spike at the blatant challenge and took a step nearer the hulking creature. “But then your word would mean nothing. Menos told me you pledged yourself and your people to this effort. I understood a Vass’s word means everything. But maybe I misunderstood—or is it just your word that doesn’t count for a whole lot?”

Jeskix drew in a sharp breath, clearly shocked. The Vass’s eyes bulged. He bared his fangs as he sucked in a breath, hesitated, then snapped his jaw firmly shut. At his side, Taha’Leeth tensed as Jeskix took a menacing step closer to Stiger. The Vass’s powerful hands clenched, knuckles cracking with the force of his grip.

“Emperor or no, I should kill you for the offense you have given,” Jeskix snarled. “No one speaks to a Knight of the Vass in such a manner and usually survives. I—should—”

“You could just acknowledge the truth,” Stiger retorted, refusing to back down. His anger was up now, and it was becoming a terrible thing. He needed allies, not adversaries who would question and challenge him at every turn. In addition to that, he had to get the varying factions of the coalition he’d built to work together, not focus on murdering one another.

“And what is that?” Jeskix demanded hotly.

“That, like me, your word is your watchword,” Stiger asserted, “and that you will not break it over something as minor as personal distaste or dislike over one whose god is not an outright enemy of your own.”

The Knight’s eyes narrowed, and he studied Stiger intently before flicking his gaze to Davin and back again. The silence in the tent seemed to stretch. “You gave your word to this servant of Lutha?”

“I did,” Stiger confirmed, “and I will not go back upon it.”

“He has already proven his trust,” Taha’Leeth said. “He held the Gate Key to Tannis in safekeeping and returned it.”

The Vass eyed Taha’Leeth for a long moment, then exhaled and took a step back from Stiger. “Very well. A bargain is a bargain. That much I understand. Besides the Key, you must have had your reasons for entering into such an arrangement.”

“I do.” Stiger resisted the urge to release a breath of relief as the tension around the table dissipated.

After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, Nepturus clapped his hands and the clerks hastily resumed their work.

“However,” the Vass warned, his eyes locked on Davin, “should he betray your trust, I will kill him without hesitation or remorse. That is a promise, servant of Lutha.”

“One I find acceptable,” Davin agreed, “although it will not be a concern, as I shall not breach his trust, not now, not ever.”

Jeskix snorted in disbelief. “Your kind is well-known for their treachery. You lie like others breathe.”

Stiger tensed as he heard the distinct and frustrated sound of a blade being rammed home in its sheath and saw Cragg emerging from behind the towering Vass with a disappointed look in his eyes. Somehow, during the tense exchange, the gnome had left his stool and had positioned himself behind Jeskix without anyone in the tent noticing. As he walked past, the little gnome casually craned his neck to lock eyes with Jeskix while trailing his fingers through the shocked Knight’s leg fur as he made his way back to his stool. The huge Vass shuddered in revulsion at the gnome’s touch.

“Careful, I no lose chance to battle, kitty,” Cragg said as he climbed back up and onto his stool. The gnome pointed at Davin. “He with big man, emperor. Stiger bring battle. You no mess with that. People be very angry. Me too.”

Jeskix blinked a few times at the gnome but did not reply.

Stiger spared a quick glance at his wife, convinced they had all narrowly avoided disaster. Taking a breath, he then turned his attention back to the table around which the group had gathered. On its surface lay a meticulously drawn map of the surrounding area, clearly the product of a camp scribe. There was another map, a sketch of what he took to be the enemy’s camp, with the garrison in the background, along with the enemy’s siege works. Around the edges of the table were stacks of wax tablets, clearly reports. Eager to move the ball forward and discuss their situation in detail, he looked up at Ikely.

“Give me a situation report,” Stiger commanded before glancing at Davin and then Jeskix. He was not naive enough to think this was the end of it. It was only the beginning, for troubled waters lay ahead in getting others to accept Davin, let alone the gods he worshipped and honored.

“Yes, sir,” Ikely responded, leaning forward to touch the map where a circle had been drawn using a charcoal pencil. “We are here.” He slid his finger across the parchment to a large square that had been drawn atop a hill. “The enemy and the garrison at Nebernacum are approximately thirty miles away. The terrain between us is rugged and heavily forested. They should not easily discover our position.” He looked up at Si’Cara. “We have fifty elven rangers ensuring that is the case. I’ve witnessed Eli’s skills firsthand; I can’t even begin to fathom how effective fifty rangers would be as a screening force.”

“They haven’t even sent scouts in our direction yet.” Si’Cara leaned forward, following a line several miles to the south with her finger. It was clear she was pointing out a road that led to the garrison and then eastward back toward the heart of the empire. “The enemy is primarily monitoring this road. They are putting all their focus upon it since any potential imperial relief force would have to march along it just to get to the garrison.”

“I see,” Stiger mused, studying the road on the map. With so many rangers screening their position and watching for enemy scouts, there was virtually no chance of the enemy discovering their camp in the short term, at least in Stiger’s opinion. “What about the dragons? Their arrival or departure might attract unwanted attention if any are spotted.”

“We are taking precautions,” Jeskix assured him, “avoiding flight paths that come anywhere near or over the road.”

“That’s good,” Stiger said. “What about the enemy’s strength? I assume we’ve sent scouts forward to eyeball them.”

“We have,” Ikely affirmed. “We estimate the enemy has nearly one hundred twenty-five thousand men.”

“That many?” Stiger asked as he rubbed his jaw. It was far more than he’d expected.

“We believe the enemy may also have additional forces to the north that have crossed into imperial lands,” Ikely continued, “striking from Sertal Zeth in the direction of the city of Cress and the border of Cyren for Mantua. It is possible both cities are under siege or soon will be.”

“Cress? That’s pretty far to the north.” Stiger contemplated the city that lay close to the border of what had once been the Kingdom of the Rivan. It had been a key supply center and hub for the empire’s war effort. Mantua was up there too. He’d spent some time there during the war. “What makes you think they’ve headed in that direction?”

“We’ve captured two of the enemy and interrogated them,” Jeskix revealed. “They were deserters and divulged information readily enough. Those are the rumors going about the enemy’s camp, indicating a wider effort at striking at your empire.”

Stiger nodded in understanding. The rumors could be true, greatly exaggerated, or just plain false. There was simply no telling. With each passing day, his headaches were only growing. Deciding it was a matter to be looked into later, he turned his attention back to Ikely. “What do our numbers look like? How many troops do we have on hand?”

“All of the Vass that came to the capital are here,” Ikely responded, “which amounts to two hundred. At present count, we also have around four thousand elves and roughly twenty-five thousand gnomes, along with about a hundred legionaries, mostly attached to headquarters, engineering, and a guard detail. The rest of the gnomes and elves are either awaiting transportation or currently en route. We expect it will take a minimum of eight days, maybe nine to complete the transfer of the majority of the gnomes and a substantial number of elves. Hux’s cavalry is pushing hard and should arrive in about three days—four at the latest. Knowing Hux, he will be on time, if not early.”

“Eight days at the minimum,” Stiger murmured, realizing that even with those reinforcements, they would still be seriously outnumbered, and the tribes of the Barrens and Cyren were known for their ability to fight like demons.

Should he have some of his legionary cohorts transported as well? Could he afford to wait longer? No matter how many rangers screened them from the enemy’s detection, Stiger understood that with each passing day their discovery became more likely, especially as close as they were to the enemy army.

Then again, he was only taking what he could afford to divert. The majority of Treim’s army was still marching north toward the capital. Stiger hoped to be able to at some point link Mechlehnus up with Treim, but that was a long way off.

Stiger turned his gaze back to the map, focusing on the garrison’s position. It was almost a certainty that he would go into battle with inferior numbers. That said, he had the advantage here, for the enemy had no idea there was a growing threat within striking distance.

“We’ve learned the enemy are planning an all-out assault on your garrison in seven days,” Jeskix said, drawing Stiger’s attention. “According to our prisoners, they intend to strike the walls just before dawn with the majority of their forces.”

“Really?” Stiger inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“We have confirmed they are constructing siege ladders,” Si’Cara corroborated, “and making general preparations for a major assault. We have no reason to doubt the intelligence on the matter.”

“Did the prisoners mention wyrms?” Taha’Leeth asked.

“In that the enemy has them?” Jeskix asked. “No, they did not. It was one of the questions we asked. They have not seen any dragons.”

Feeling a surge of excitement, Stiger’s gaze fell upon the map. “This presents a clear opportunity.”

“Yes, it does,” Jeskix concurred with a growl. “When you arrived, we were discussing the possibility of advancing and striking while they’re preoccupied with assaulting the garrison walls. By doing so, we may be able to catch them off balance.”

“The fields surrounding the garrison are well-suited for cavalry operations,” Ikely noted. “However, the enemy’s assault will take place beyond the siege works they constructed, a series of turf walls and trenches. They’ve made a ring around the garrison’s walls, all designed to keep the garrison in and from breaking out.”

“Yes,” Stiger said, “I saw them before we arrived. They are quite extensive.”

“The enemy has also constructed a fortified camp”—Ikely touched the sketch of the enemy’s camp—“with a gap, essentially open ground, between the beginning of their siege works and the encampment itself.”

“How large is this gap?” Stiger asked.

“About a quarter mile,” Ikely said. “If we can get a substantial force into that open ground, we might be able to cut off those tasked with conducting the assault on the garrison. They would be unable to fall back upon the walls of their own encampment. All avenues of safety will be closed to them. Hux’s forces might be able to get there quick enough and create a blocking position, long enough for infantry reinforcement to arrive.”

Stiger nodded slowly, taking in the information. “If he’s unsuccessful … ”

“They would undoubtedly hunker down behind their own walls,” Ikely finished. “Should such a thing come to pass, we could consider deploying the dragons to burn them out.”

“That is not the wisest of ideas,” Jeskix interjected.

“Why not?” Ikely inquired, plainly curious about the objection.

“Because if we ask the dragons to annihilate the camp, which they could easily do, they will use their will—magic—to get the job done. That’ll deplete their energy reserves, which takes time to rebuild and store up,” Stiger explained. “We want to conserve their strength for when the time comes to confront the confederacy’s wyrms. And we believe the enemy has a good number of wyrms too, potentially giving them an advantage over us.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jeskix agreed. “Using our dragons in the short-term may help, but ultimately hurt us in the longer-term. That means this battle must be determined by swords, sheer numbers, violence, and bloodshed, preferably that of our enemies.”

“We will have the element of surprise on our side,” Stiger said, his gaze returning to the map. “What does the approach to the enemy’s encampment look like?”

“There is a mile of open ground, mainly fields for growing crops, from the edge of the forest to the encampment,” Ikely explained.

“Once we emerge from cover,” Taha’Leeth said, “they will have some time to react, to call off their assault and send any reserves they have on hand to the walls of their own encampment.”

“Such orders take time to execute,” Jeskix said. “There will undoubtedly be enemy formations trapped outside the walls of their encampment. Whether they choose to stand and fight or run for the Barrens is another matter.”

“A lot of it will come down to Hux,” Stiger said, rapping the table with his knuckles. “He will have to get his boys into the gap, and fast.”

“And if he fails, or is compelled to withdraw?” Taha’Leeth said. “Say they throw a determined force against him, or they don’t run? And what of the enemy’s cavalry? Do they have any?”

“About two hundred horse,” Ikely said, “but they pushed off to the north two days ago. We’ve not seen any evidence of them since.”

“If, after we launch our attack,” Stiger said, “the enemy chooses or manages to fall back upon and hole up in their camp, and we can’t stop them, then, when they’re all inside, we’ll simply commandeer their own artillery, positioned around the garrison, and turn it against them. Moreover, once we break the siege, the garrison’s defenders will significantly bolster our ranks, and the enemy will be trapped, bottled up. From there, it’s just a matter of time, energy, and effort to reduce them or compel them to surrender. Then again”—Stiger paused as he thought for a heartbeat—“we could plan on assaulting their encampment as well, when we make our move and shift over to the attack.” Leaning forward, he swept his hand over the map to indicate a move from the forest across the open fields to the encampment and beyond. “Take the camp as one of our initial objectives, while at the same time sweeping forward, around and beyond it, attacking all those enemy formations within reach. If we can get inside their camp with serious strength, there is no way they will be able to hold it, especially if most of their men are outside and engaged in the assault on the garrison.”

“Deny them any opportunity at a defense,” Jeskix said. “That works too.”

“If we do it right,” Stiger said, “it’s not like they’re going to be prepared and massed together to receive us. After their assault begins, our strength will be concentrated—theirs will not. They will be spread out all around the garrison.”

“There is a good chance a Masella or two will be accompanying their army,” Davin interjected. “That might complicate your plans some. I am thinking it a good thing I am with you.”

“What are Masella?” Stiger asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“Devotees of the god Mastel,” Davin replied with a look of distaste. “They potentially pose a considerable threat. To my knowledge, these days, that faith only resides in the Barrens, and it is practiced by few.”

“I’ve never heard of such a god,” Stiger admitted.

“I have,” Si’Cara chimed in unhappily. “Mastel is an ancient deity, far from friendly to our cause. The Masella are summoners, and what they can call forth is the stuff of nightmares. At one time, he and their people were aligned. They worked together.”

Stiger looked at Davin. “Like you, can they summon the twisted?”

“Not the twisted, but potentially worse, creatures from another level or realm, that and more,” Davin warned. “If they choose to involve themselves in this fight, I will be the one to confront them, as I am best suited for such a conflict. It would be dangerous for anyone else to try, even a Knight of the Vass and”—Davin looked over at Stiger—“yourself included.”

Here was yet another unknown factor. Exhaling a frustrated breath, Stiger nodded. “That will be your responsibility, then.”

“It is indeed,” Davin confirmed. “The Masella are sworn enemies of my gods. You could say we have history.”

Stiger turned to Cragg, who had remained silent while perched on his stool. The gnome had been listening to everything that had been said. “The bulk of the assault, when it happens, will fall primarily upon your warriors, Cragg. Your people will make up the majority of our attacking force. Do you have any concerns? Any ideas? Thoughts?”

“Concerns, worries, no,” Cragg responded confidently. “We do it. You need no worry. Tell us what want … we do. It be good fun.”

“You must keep your warriors concealed and under control until the day of the attack,” Stiger instructed. “I’m aware of your people’s enthusiasm for battle, for killing. We cannot risk them becoming overeager and taking it into their heads to hunt the enemy beforehand, alerting them to our presence. That would put the enemy on guard, and we can’t have that. We must catch them by surprise. That is the only way we pull this off.”

“Me people stay put,” Cragg assured him. “Until time is right and you ready. We no leave camp. No big battle then. We want kill … want battle. They listen. They listen. Want please gods.”

“I have your word on that?” Stiger pressed.

“Yes, yes,” the gnome replied, a hint of impatience in his voice. He waved a tiny dismissive hand in Stiger’s direction. “Yes, yes. I give word.”

Though he did not trust the gnome, he was somewhat satisfied he’d made his point sufficiently.

Stiger then turned back to Ikely. “What is our supply situation? Tell me about that.”

“As instructed, each individual brought with them ten days of precooked rations,” Ikely reported. “We have a couple of dragons transporting more, but it won’t be sufficient for the long term, especially since it takes three to three and a half days just to get here. We need another source of supply and that will be the garrison’s stores. It makes breaking the siege our absolute priority.”

“So,” Stiger concluded, “we must act swiftly, or we go hungry. Waiting longer than a week is not an option.”

“No, it is not,” Si’Cara confirmed gravely.

Stiger fell silent for a moment, his gaze returning to the map. “So, we must attack, and the sooner the better.”

“That is how we see matters,” Jeskix said.

“I believe we are in agreement, then,” Stiger said, surveying the faces around the table. “On the seventh day, after the enemy initiates their assault, we launch our attack shortly after—even if our full strength has yet to arrive here at this camp.”

“Agreed,” Jeskix concurred, then glanced at Ikely. “And we keep the dragons in reserve, in the event their intervention becomes absolutely necessary. Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Stiger gave a nod, then looked over at the warden. “Si’Cara, what say you?”

Si’Cara nodded in agreement. “Seven days—then we hit them hard.”

Stiger looked to Cragg.

“Yes, yes,” Cragg said, rubbing his hands together in clear anticipation. “We make Kessao proud, happy. Kill all.”

“All right,” Stiger declared, clapping his hands together. “I’ve been traveling for days in frigid weather with little rest and I’m hungry to boot. Let’s adjourn and reconvene in the morning to discuss the specifics and begin serious planning of our coming attack.” He looked at Si’Cara. “I also want to eyeball the garrison and the enemy. Can you detail one of your rangers to help me with that task, one who already knows the ground and best vantage points for observation, preferably the day after tomorrow?”

“I will,” Si’Cara said.

“Excellent,” Stiger said. “Then, for now, we are done here. We will pick up in the morning and begin serious planning.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Leaning forward, Stiger extended his hands out toward the fire. The flames cast a warm, flickering light upon the tents around them. All the nearest tents belonged to the legionary contingent in the camp, which consisted of the headquarters section, the guard, and Ruga’s men. The backs of the tents had been arranged so they faced the entrance of his tent, which gave both him and Taha’Leeth a small semblance of privacy where little was to be had.

They both were seated side by side on a sturdy log that had been strategically positioned by the fire, providing a comfortable spot to sit and rest. Their modest four-person tent stood behind them, the canvas structure a far cry from the accommodations Stiger was used to, but perfectly suitable for the pair of them.

Two collapsible cots had been brought along for the journey, and Stiger had a sneaking suspicion that Nepturus was behind this thoughtful gesture. The cots would ensure he and his wife wouldn’t have to sleep on the cold and unforgiving ground like most everyone else.

Despite the late hour, the bustling camp was a hive of activity, as gnomes and elves were still arriving. The rhythmic clanging of hammers, the sharp, dull echoes of axes at work felling trees or splitting firewood, and the occasional call of a comrade to another filled the air, an ever-present reminder that the camp was alive and thriving.

Every now and then, the silhouette of a dragon soared by overhead, its massive frame casting a fleeting and moving shadow over the already darkened camp around them.

Stiger’s frozen canteen told him the temperature had dipped well below freezing. The only upside was there was no breeze. That and the fire, whose comforting blaze provided a welcome respite from winter’s icy touch and grip, its warmth a valiant challenger to the ever encroaching cold.

After eating a hearty meal of roasted venison that they’d warmed up over the open flames of their fire, Stiger found himself not only drowsy, but entranced by the blaze, the hypnotic dance of the flames, the glowing embers, the sparks rising into the sky as they rapidly burned themselves out in a frenzy.

He basked in the serenity of the moment, the peacefulness of doing nothing, other than just sitting with the woman he had come to love and sharing the moment with her. In Stiger’s scroll, it was perfect, and yet he felt compelled to interrupt it, for she seemed particularly grave.

“What are you thinking?” Stiger inquired after a while, his voice quiet as he sipped water from his canteen. The once-frozen water had thawed slightly after being placed close to the fire, allowing him to drink some. Eating snow was not a good idea, as it would only make him colder. Besides, the snow had been shoveled out of the camp, leaving only the frozen ground underneath.

“Hard days lie ahead of us both,” Taha’Leeth murmured, her tone soft yet somber. “The way ahead will not be an easy one.”

“They surely do, and it won’t be,” Stiger conceded, nodding in agreement as he set the canteen down beside his feet. “You know, in a way, it’s our own fault.”

“I suppose it is,” Taha’Leeth said with a trace of a sad smile as she glanced over at him. “I occasionally think on that. We could have done the easy thing, chosen a path mostly free of challenge, struggle … that’s for certain.”

“But then, I wouldn’t have you.” Stiger reached over and affectionately squeezed her leg. “Had I chosen that road to walk, I’d not have you by my side, sharing this lovely fire, out in the middle of nowhere.” Stiger paused, thinking of his friend. “Though Eli is fond of saying nowhere is always someone’s somewhere.”

“And I would not have you either,” Taha’Leeth replied. She tenderly touched her belly with the palm of her right hand. “Nor would we have this precious life growing within me.”

“We bring forth not only a new life, but a new race into this world.” Stiger eyed her belly. He was unsure of what his child would look like, other than a melding between elf and human. “Despite the hard road ahead, we have truly been blessed by our gods.”

Taha’Leeth gave a nod, then after a moment, she reached out and took his hand, which she guided to her abdomen. They shared a meaningful look as he felt the gentle curve beneath his palm. Her pregnancy was finally beginning to show a little in a slight bump.

“This is yours, too,” she whispered. “Ours. I could not have done this without you.”

“I know it,” Stiger replied, his voice suddenly gruff and filled with emotion as Taha’Leeth released his hand and turned her gaze back to the crackling fire.

Taking his hand back, Stiger sat there for a long moment, captivated by his wife’s presence as he allowed himself to take in every exquisite detail of her features. He watched her for several heartbeats, each one reminding him of the love and passion he held for her.

The firelight upon her skin cast a golden radiance that only seemed to enhance her beauty. He marveled at how the warm flickers of light played against the delicate contours of her face, accentuating her already stunning features. Despite all that she carried on her shoulders, and all she had given up, her expression bore no uncertainty. She was at peace with the decisions that had led her to this moment, at peace in her love for him and her trust in their path.

As he sat there, lost in the natural magnificence of her beauty, he felt a surge of warmth and affection that only served to strengthen his love for her. Almost regretfully, he broke away and turned his attention back to the fire, knowing that this moment would forever be etched in his memory, for it was nothing short of perfect.

He let go a breath that shuddered slightly, and not from the cold. The heat from the campfire was a comfort, along with his wife’s presence, a balm to the soul, especially on such a cold night and with all his headaches and worries to boot. She was a stabilizing influence, one he was grateful to have.

“I think it time,” Taha’Leeth said.

“Time for what?” Stiger asked.

“I have given up my responsibility, my people, and all that tied me to them—for us,” Taha’Leeth said. “It is past time for me to commit myself.”

“You already have.” Stiger felt a bubble of amusement and gave a chuckle. “Did you forget we’re married?”

That earned him an unhappy look. “I am going to commit myself fully to helping you govern, to be the partner you deserve. I refuse to sit aside and watch as you struggle to do your duty, or worse, let another do what I should.”

“Govern?” Stiger asked, looking over at her. This was a turn in the conversation he’d not expected.

“Ruling the empire will become a burden,” Taha’Leeth said. “It is already a burden for you to bear. I see it daily, and I will not have it wear you down. I have experience leading a people and I want to help. If I can take some of that which weighs you down from your shoulders, all the better, but that is what I wish to do. You will allow me to help you.”

“Okay,” Stiger said with a firm nod, feeling a sudden relief, as if part of the heavy burden had been lifted. “I will take all the help I can get.”

“You’ve heard the rumors going around the city,” Taha’Leeth said. “There will be some who do not like it. They will hate it. That is what concerns me, holds me back. I can help from the shadows, the other side of the curtain, if it makes it easier.”

Stiger shook his head. He knew such an important decision should take time, a careful consideration of all the political factors and concerns. Therik and his father would counsel such an approach. But he had already made his decision, and he knew in his bones, his heart, it was the right one.

“Once the coronation takes place, you will be empress and I emperor. Rumors or no, we will rule jointly, together. All will know it from the beginning.”

“The senate will surely object,” Taha’Leeth said, tilting her head to the side slightly as she looked back at him. “The people might as well.”

“Some might,” Stiger said, “but given time, they will come around. Or I will make them.”

“I do not know about that,” Taha’Leeth said. “It will not be as simple as you think. It is very difficult to change thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.”

“Nevertheless, my mind is made up,” Stiger said. “We do this together, as a team, as husband and wife, emperor and empress. That is the way it shall be.”

“Good, then I think you should claim Nepturus,” Taha’Leeth said. “Take him as your own.”

“Claim?” Stiger asked, confused by the abrupt turn in the conversation. “I can’t do that. He is a free man.”

“You and I both require a personal staff, assistants, and the sooner the better,” Taha’Leeth declared, her voice resolute. “Nepturus is an exceptional administrator, incredibly efficient, and steadfastly loyal. Bestowing him with a promotion and advancement to your staff would be a reward for his dedication, his service, and a great honor at that. It would tie him even closer to us both.”

Stiger pondered her suggestion, intrigued by the idea of having Nepturus leading his administrative staff. The man had long ago impressed him. “That will leave Salt without a competent head clerk.”

“Your needs as emperor are greater,” Taha’Leeth insisted. “Nepturus could help us restore order amidst the chaos of rebuilding the empire’s bureaucracy. He could be tasked with assembling an administrative team, one that streamlines the matters that are put before us. You already have him trained. Instead of matters of the legion, he will be dealing with matters of the empire.”

“That’s a pretty big jump,” Stiger said.

“He will adapt to the change in roles soon enough. Besides, Salt will undoubtedly find a suitable replacement. I do not think you need worry overly much about him. He too is competent and will pick someone useful, capable.”

As Stiger rubbed his jaw, the idea of Nepturus’s working for him seemed more and more appealing the longer he thought on it. He had no doubt the man would deftly streamline operations within the palace and take some of the burden off Stiger’s plate, ultimately lightening the load for both him and his father. Nepturus was a diligent worker, quick to learn and adapt, seldom requiring correction or reminders to get things done. He was also excellent at organizing and giving direction to the other clerks.

“As I mentioned,” Taha’Leeth continued, shifting slightly on the log, clearly seeking a more comfortable position, “his loyalty is beyond question.”

“Yes, it is,” Stiger agreed, the decision made. “Very well. After our campaign against the tribes here, I’ll send him to the capital with instructions for my father regarding his new responsibilities and position. He will be promoted from clerk to the magister officiorum, the master of offices for the emperor.”

“You should consider bringing Ikely along as well,” Taha’Leeth suggested. “He could be of great use to you, to us.”

“Ikely?” Stiger inquired, curiosity piqued. “Whatever for?”

“He is intelligent and a quick learner,” Taha’Leeth elaborated, her voice filled with conviction. “We can depend on him to execute any task or responsibility he is entrusted with. He’s also part of the nobility and would be an additional presence within the palace, someone intimately familiar to us. Furthermore, he possesses impressive administrative skills—at least you have told me so on more than one occasion—and he is a good person. I like him and I know you do as well.”

Contemplating her words, Stiger shifted his focus back to the fire, its hypnotic glow casting flickering shadows around them. He mulled over where he could best utilize his former executive officer, for her suggestion wasn’t a bad one.

Though he’d hate being taken from the field and active command within a legion, Ikely would be able to better serve the empire in such a capacity, and that ultimately was what mattered.

“The High Command is in dire need of rebuilding,” Stiger said. “Ikely, as a soldier and an officer with combat experience, can contribute significantly to that effort. He could also serve as a liaison between the suppliers, manufacturers, and the army, along with handling other sensitive duties we assign him.”

“That’s certainly a step in the right direction,” Taha’Leeth agreed. “As emperor, you need to begin taking advantage of those who are loyal to you, those who have repeatedly proven themselves and seen success. Reward them with greater responsibility, honor, and trust—lift them up as you have been elevated. Doing so shows your trust and faith. That will bind them closer to us. Such is the way of the wise leader.”

Stiger gave a nod of agreement. They lapsed into silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts as together they gazed at the mesmerizing dance of the flames before them. Stiger suppressed a yawn, the weight of long days and sleepless nights beginning to take its toll. He was dog-tired.

Surveying their surroundings, he took in the sight of the backs of the tents, all part of the headquarters compound. Through the gaps, just beyond the light, legionary guards, Ruga’s men amongst them, stood at the perimeter, ensuring that only authorized personnel gained entry. It was a comfort just knowing they were there.

Inhaling deeply, Stiger reached for a piece of wood from the neatly stacked pile beside the log upon which they sat and tossed it onto the fire. The action sent a dazzling shower of sparks spiraling skyward and toward the heavens.

“What comes next?” Taha’Leeth inquired, her eyes reflecting the fire’s light as she looked over at him.

“I believe sleep is in order,” Stiger replied, barely suppressing another yawn. He eyed her for a moment. “Though I could use a little action before bed. I would not turn that down.”

“I meant after we break the siege and rescue the garrison,” Taha’Leeth clarified, her gaze unwavering as it bored into him. There was an intensity to her look that was surprising. “What comes next? What will you do after this?”

Stiger leaned back slightly as he pondered her question, wondering on the sudden and intense interest. He had given it some consideration but had purposefully not shared his thoughts with his wife. He’d not been planning to broach the subject until they had brought the business here to a satisfactory conclusion.

“You’re planning to go after Menos and Ogg, aren’t you?” Taha’Leeth ventured before he could respond. “Do not dissemble. I am a big girl and can take the truth.”

“I am,” Stiger admitted, all vestiges of tiredness having vanished. He did not want this conversation to happen now, but come it had. “How can I not? We need them both in what’s ahead.”

“Now that you have dragons at your disposal, and can travel vast distances with ease, you will go without Currose’s assistance as well,” Taha’Leeth deduced. “You will leave her behind, just as you left her behind in the capital for this campaign?”

“I worry about her,” Stiger said. “Even though she claims otherwise, I don’t believe she’ll be of much assistance in her current condition. She’s still recuperating, and whatever incapacitated Menos could do the same to her. She won’t be at her best to confront that either. I believe you know that as well as I.”

“I do,” Taha’Leeth said. “She won’t be pleased about that.”

“I don’t suppose she will,” Stiger agreed, his thoughts filled with the potential ire of the noctalum when she discovered his plans or even that he’d pushed forward without her. “Currose already believes I am a bad influence on her mate. She might take serious issue with me leaving her out of his rescue. Either way, I am not looking forward to her wrath, and she will be angry.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ll be facing when you get there?” Taha’Leeth asked, concern etched on her face as she turned her gaze back to the fire.

“To the volcano?” Stiger queried, to which she nodded in affirmation. “Yes, I have some idea … on what’s waiting.”

“What do you mean, ‘some’?” Her eyes narrowed in concern as she looked over at him. The fire took that moment to pop loudly. “Explain.”

Stiger exhaled slowly. “There was a wizard, a deranged one, known as the Master of Amaranth. He ruled the volcano and its surrounding lands. After what happened, we thought him dead, but now I am not so certain. He must still be alive and has likely taken both Menos and Ogg, and I suspect—no, that’s not right—I know he is harboring a serious grudge against me as well.”

“From your last visit there?” Taha’Leeth inquired, her curiosity piqued. “For what you and Menos did to the volcano?”

Stiger nodded solemnly. “To what we did to his little kingdom, his domain. The volcano was sort of an accident and really the cause of all the destruction.” Stiger sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “The important part is he knows I will come after Menos and Ogg. I am certain of that, and like a spider in a web, he’s lying in wait for me.” A surge of frustration washed over him. Stiger sucked in a deep breath. “I truly don’t understand why they felt compelled to venture back there, to that dark place. It’s baffling. There’s nothing there of value other than the springs Menos wanted to bathe in to begin with, and now those are gone too. I just don’t know what they were thinking. The last time, I barely escaped with my life. This time I may not be so fortunate.”

“You don’t intend on bringing me along, do you?” Taha’Leeth’s tone had grown hard. “Were you going to sneak off and leave me? Just so you know, I would have found Currose and come after you, then kicked your ass into the next day for leaving me behind.”

Stiger turned to look at her, their eyes locking for a protracted moment. In her gaze, he saw a fusion of depth, love, and pain at the realization of what he intended.

“No,” he admitted, his voice heavy with reluctance. “I wasn’t planning on sneaking off. We would have talked first. That said, I don’t want you with me when I go.”

Taha’Leeth’s eyes seemed to flash. Her anger was plain, and when she spoke there was a dangerous edge to her tone. “I thought I made it clear. You are never to leave me again.”

“I know,” Stiger conceded. “I think going back will be one of the most dangerous things I have ever attempted. That’s why I was planning on asking you not to accompany me, for the sake of our unborn child.”

“For the baby?” Taha’Leeth’s hand instinctively came to rest on her swelling belly.

“I want you to seriously consider my request,” Stiger implored. “Traveling to the volcano, to that region, is dangerous in the extreme. I don’t even want to go, but I must and in fact”—Stiger touched his chest with his palm—“I am beginning to feel compelled to do so.”

“The High Father, then.”

“Yes. Whatever is there is important, and I must go.”

She gave a thoughtful nod as she turned her gaze to the fire. Stiger almost found himself holding his breath as he waited for her to reply. After a time, she looked back at him. “If not me, who then will you take?”

“I would have preferred to bring Eli and Therik, but neither are here,” Stiger said with serious regret. “So, I suppose it will be Ruga, his men, and Cragg, perhaps along with some of his comrades.”

“Cragg?” Taha’Leeth inquired, her surprise evident. “Why the gnome?”

“Gnomes are involved,” Stiger explained and gave a shrug of his shoulders, “so I’m going to enlist their aid. I plan to address one disagreeable problem by utilizing another.” Stiger chuckled. “You know, I think Eli might find the thought of that solution humorous.”

“And I am not to join you?” Taha’Leeth asked, her gaze returning to him. He could sense her annoyance and irritation with him.

“Oh, you can come with me, all right,” Stiger assured her, “but I’d prefer you not. Whatever my wishes are, you are clearly going to make up your own mind on the matter. I may rule an empire, but I don’t rule you.”

“Only my heart,” Taha’Leeth whispered, her manner softening a little. She reached over to place her hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And after this battle?” she asked. “What will you do with the army here?”

Stiger pondered her question for a moment before responding. “If we win, the legions and auxiliary cohorts from the garrison can march on to the capital. There they will join forces with Treim’s army.”

“And what about the gnomes, elves, Vass, and dragons?” Taha’Leeth pressed. “What becomes of them?”

“If the dragons consent, which I expect,” Stiger explained, “I’ll have the rest transported by air to unite with Mechlehnus. I’d prefer to send legionaries, but we can pack more gnomes on a dragon than men. I’ll give the little bastards another fight soon after the one that’s coming in the next few days. They’re going to bloody love it. May the High Father forgive me, but first I will unleash them on the tribes, then the Castol.”

“Speaking of the Castol, you told Mechlehnus you’d be by his side when he confronts them. If you go after Menos and Ogg, you might not be able to be there for that.”

“I’m aware of that,” Stiger replied. “I believe there’s enough time to find Menos and Ogg and still join Mechlehnus for the decisive battle.”

“And if you don’t make it in time? What then? What if you are wrong or delayed?”

“Mechlehnus is a seasoned battlefield commander. He’ll take the lead. As emperor, I can’t be everywhere at once. I must rely on others and trust them to do their duty, to do the job I’ve given them. Either way, I will send him detailed instructions on how to deal with the gnomes, along with the elves and Vass. Cragg will have to put someone in charge of his gnomes. I’m not looking forward to that conversation or how it might shake out in the long run. It’s just one more problem to deal with.” Stiger leaned over and tossed another log on the fire. “I sent two dragons to him for protection, so he’s already learning how to deal with the taltalum.”

Taha’Leeth nodded. “And what of the besieged cities of Cress and Mantua? How are we going to solve that issue? The empire is already stretched thin.”

Stiger’s expression darkened. He felt his frustration mount as he glanced at her. “You believe the intelligence about both cities being under siege accurate and not just rumor?”

“I think there is a strong possibility it is true. Our enemies have planned well, and they are doing their best to bring the empire down by striking at once from all directions. Until there is new information, you must assume the enemy is going after those two cities.”

Stiger released a weary breath as he cracked his neck. He was still stiff from the long flight. Riding by dragonback was not a comfortable experience. “The cities of Cress and Mantua will have to wait until the Castol are dealt with,” Stiger said with a hint of regret and pain at such a thought, for if true, more of his people were in harm’s way, with no help available. He found the thought of that more than a little distressing. As emperor, his main job was to protect his own people. He was failing at that effort. “Our business here comes first. Everything depends on that and the gnomes’ cooperation, specifically playing the role they are supposed to. Honestly, I never imagined I’d be forced to rely so heavily on them, and it worries me, and not just a little. They are the embodiment of chaos. Give them an opportunity, and they’ll mess everything up.”

“Or win the day.” Taha’Leeth laughed softly. “They’ve been a positive outcome for us when it mattered.”

“Yes, they have,” Stiger agreed with a nod, thinking back to some of the things Cragg had done, and then there was Wast. He and his boys had helped Stiger win the Curule Chair. “Still, they can be a real pain.”

“Their true patron god should be Fortuna.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Stiger responded, then hesitated. After a moment, he looked back at her. “Come with me when it’s time to go after Menos and Ogg, or don’t come. The choice is yours, and in truth, you and I, we are in this together.”

“We are, and we will face whatever is ahead together. That is the pact we made, the bond, remember?”

“I do,” Stiger said. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I just don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby.”

“I know,” Taha’Leeth said, and with that, the tension seemed to thoroughly leave her. In its place, a mischievous expression came over her face. Taha’Leeth bit her lower lip, then glanced at the tent behind them before returning her gaze to Stiger.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said.

“I do.”

“Perhaps it is time we turned in for the night,” Taha’Leeth suggested, rising to her feet. She extended her hand toward him and glanced to the tent before looking back at him with a knowing expression. “Let us put aside our worries—for a short time. Though we will lose some sleep, there is something else I wish to do, my love … that action you spoke of. That is, if you are up for the challenge?”

“I was born for this challenge.” Grinning at her and finding his mood seriously lightening at the prospect of what lay ahead in his immediate future, Stiger accepted her hand. She pulled him to his feet and then drew him close. She kissed him lightly then, still holding his hand, led him away to their tent.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stiger found himself lying upon his stomach atop a gentle knoll, amidst the severed trunks of once large and ancient trees that had been felled all around him, a somber monument to what had once been.

To his immediate left, Si’Cara lay with an air of quiet intensity. He could almost feel her sorrow and anger on the destruction of this portion of the forest. On his right was Cragg, the gnome’s black-eyed gaze sweeping the landscape before them. Jeskix was just past the gnome and was also lying prone to avoid being seen. Ahead of them, and down the slope, the field of stumps continued for several hundred yards. Beyond that were farm fields.

Behind them, down the rise, four elven rangers lay or crouched off to the sides, hidden amidst the undergrowth and numerous stumps, their eyes and ears clearly attuned to the slightest disturbance that could betray an enemy’s unexpected approach. They were all armed with bows.

It had taken their group the better part of the day to traverse the grueling terrain that lay between the main camp and their current location. Stiger’s body felt the journey intensely, his legs aching with every subtle shift in position, for it had been a near thirty-mile hike.

He had been forewarned that the path they would follow would be arduous, but those words had failed to capture the true extent of the challenge, especially while wearing armor, which he had left back in the tree line. He had not wanted his armor to reflect the sunlight and possibly give them away.

As the sun dipped low in the western sky, it cast a golden glow across the horizon and, despite the bitter cold, bathed the world in warm hues. Fortunately, the sun was positioned to their left, its rays glancing off their faces without obscuring what lay before them.

From his vantage point, Stiger had a clear, unobstructed view of the enemy’s encampment and the legion’s garrison, Nebernacum. The hill upon which the fort sat was undeniably impressive. A commanding presence in the landscape, it stood as the dominant terrain feature for miles around, and that was why it had likely been chosen.

The slope of the hill, though not particularly steep, rose with a gradual incline that extended approximately five to six hundred feet to the permanent garrison at the top. At this point, the summit gave way to formidable defensive walls. They were an imposing stone barrier that dared any who desired to come forward and test themselves.

The walls looked quite solid. Stiger estimated they were at least twenty feet in height, with a canopy mounted over the palisade and defensive platform. Along its length were positioned bolt throwers, angled downward to strike at the enemy.

As his eyes raked the garrison’s position and defenses, it was evident that the empire had spared no expense in transforming the Felix Legion’s home into a formidable citadel, one that would take great effort at overcoming.

Assessing the strength of the fortification, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation at the thought of attempting to breach those walls. And if their information was correct, that was just what the enemy, the tribes, were soon going to try. Though the tribes greatly outnumbered the defenders, it would be a very bloody affair and in Stiger’s mind their success was far from guaranteed. In fact, he thought any such attempt destined to failure, but he’d been wrong before. Perhaps the enemy knew something he did not.

“The enemy’s camp clearly presents a significant challenge,” Si’Cara remarked, her keen eyes scrutinizing the encampment. She pointed away from the garrison and the hill upon which it sat. “The walls, though timber, stand at least twelve feet tall. You can’t see it from here, but they are reinforced by an outer trench that’s nearly as deep. With these temperatures it must have taken great effort to dig, for the ground is frozen.”

“I agree,” Stiger said, for he well knew how difficult it was to dig up the frozen layer of ground just to get at what hadn’t been bricked by the harsh touch of winter.

“Under warmer conditions,” Si’Cara said, “the trench would likely be filled with groundwater. For now, though, it lies frozen. Last night, I sent a couple of my rangers forward for a closer look. The trench is steeply V-shaped, with wooden spikes at the bottom.”

“It’s almost as if the tribes had help in building those defenses, or at least advice in how to get it done,” Stiger said. “I’ve never heard of them being capable of any of this.”

“The Cyphan Confederacy, perhaps,” Si’Cara said. “They have likely sent advisors.”

Stiger nodded unhappily.

“To penetrate their defenses, we’ll need to bridge the trench and scale the walls,” Stiger mused, stating the obvious, for the task ahead loomed large in his mind. “That’s going to be a formidable undertaking on its own.”

Si’Cara nodded solemnly. “Indeed, it will not be easy, especially if we encounter serious and organized resistance. Then again, we did not think it easy to begin with. But once we breach their perimeter, and there is no doubt in my mind we shall do just that, the tide will turn in our favor. The enemy’s morale will crumble as our forces pour inside their camp. After that, their defenses will falter.”

Stiger’s gaze drifted to the ground before the encampment, where the remnants of last year’s harvest lay hidden beneath a blanket of snow. Each field was demarcated by a low stone wall. At a distance of two miles across open terrain, the enemy’s encampment seemed both tantalizingly close and frustratingly distant. Though Stiger could not discern any artillery emplacements upon the camp’s walls, he knew better than to assume they weren’t there, lurking out of sight.

Outside the camp’s protective walls, several dozen figures moved about, attending to unknown tasks. These were undoubtedly enemy soldiers. Atop the walls, sentries kept a vigilant watch, ensuring the safety of those within. Smoke from countless campfires curled skyward, merging into a thick, bluish-gray haze that hung heavily above the enemy’s stronghold, an ominous cloud that seemed to warn of the trials to come.

Stiger shifted his gaze back to the garrison, studying the siege works the enemy had built. They were clearly manned and appeared as if the enemy had simply piled up snow and then packed it down to form walls, then emplaced a barricade made of wooden stakes. It was an interesting technique, one Stiger had only ever seen utilized by the Rivan. There were openings at regular intervals in the siege works, likely left to allow the attackers to get at the defenders when it came time to assault the walls.

“We’ve already begun constructing ladders,” Si’Cara said, her voice tinged with determination. “Additionally, we’re amassing bundles of sticks that can be hurled into the trench to fashion makeshift bridges. The gnomes have been working tirelessly alongside us in these endeavors.”

“I’m aware,” Stiger acknowledged, for on their way out to this spot, he had witnessed the fervent preparations firsthand. The gnomes seemed to have an industrious nature that was coupled with unflagging energy. He had seen it before, and it had left a lasting impression on him. They were trouble but, when engaged at a task, born workers.

Already, hundreds of ladders had been crafted and countless bundles of sticks bound, each intended for use in bridging the trenches.

“To ensure the success of our assault,” Stiger said, “we’ll need to pinpoint specific points along their wall and make our efforts there. That means charging individuals on the scene specifically to make those decisions and direct the assault parties in the correct direction. Even then, it’s likely to be a costly endeavor, exacting a heavy toll on our forces.”

Stiger’s gaze swept the landscape, first to the left, then to the right. Around two hundred yards behind them, a dense forest sprawled, its once-unbroken expanse now marred by the enemy’s harvest of trees. In their quest for timber to construct siege works, make materials for their encampment, and provide firewood, the enemy had felled thousands of trees, pushing the forest’s edge back by at least a quarter mile.

Stiger gestured toward the distant encampment. “Our approach will be detected long before we reach their walls. That’s the real problem. The sentries within the camp are sure to spot us, and once the alarm is raised, they’ll have ample time to prepare themselves for our attack—maybe half to three quarters of an hour before our assault falls upon their walls.”

As if it had already happened, the understanding of what those in the first waves of the assault would face weighed heavily on Stiger’s mind. He had been in the thick of it on several assaults against fortified positions. None had been easy, but difficult in the extreme, and bloody too. Forlorn hopes were never pleasant affairs.

“They will indeed,” Jeskix agreed, his voice a near growl. “But we’ll possess the element of surprise, if only for a short time, and that may be enough to make a difference. With luck, the appearance of our battle line will sow panic and confusion amidst the enemy.”

“Maybe,” Stiger conceded. “Either way, in my mind, that advantage will only last until someone with authority takes charge and starts coordinating their efforts at defense.”

“We’ll also have the advantage of numbers,” Jeskix added, “and the ability to concentrate our forces on a single confined area, overwhelming the enemy’s position there. There is a quality in quantity and force of strength at one point. Meanwhile, they’ll be dispersed across and around that hill. It will take precious time for them to regroup, let alone recall their forces, and likely even longer to form a proper battle line to confront us properly, and by then, with some good fortune, we’ll have gained the upper hand. Either way, we will have the initiative. The enemy will be reacting to what we do.”

Stiger silently prayed that Jeskix’s assessment would prove accurate.

“The crux of our strategy lies in securing the area between the enemy’s camp, the gap, and their siege works,” Si’Cara said. “That is the point where we will either succeed or fail. Once we establish a foothold there, we must hold it at all costs. In doing so, we will effectively divide the enemy’s forces between those attempting to breach and storm the garrison and those who remain entrenched within their camp. That’s when we—my elves and the Vass—will strike, launching a surprise assault on their camp from the rear. The legionary gnomes too.”

Stiger offered a nod as he turned his gaze back to the enemy encampment. As long as the enemy’s warriors remaining in the camp managed to stay calm in the face of his army’s assault, they would have ample time to prepare themselves for what was coming. Still, he had no idea how many of the enemy would participate in the assault on the garrison’s walls and how many would remain behind in their encampment watching. What he did know was that there were a lot of the enemy, more than he had available and on hand.

Despite the lack of alternatives, Stiger couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that accompanied the decision to proceed. The silver lining, however, was that their plan capitalized on the enemy’s distraction, catching them off guard while they were engaged elsewhere, primarily assaulting the garrison’s walls. That and, as Jeskix had said, surprise with concentration of force would carry the day. At least, Stiger hoped and prayed so.

Stiger cast a glance toward Cragg and caught his gaze. “Do you understand your role and that of your people in this plan?”

“Yes, yes,” Cragg replied, too hastily for Stiger’s liking. “Me good.”

“Cragg,” Stiger said with a firm tone, “I need to hear it from you. Walk me through the plan that we discussed.”

Cragg let go an unhappy breath, as if it was a waste of time, then pointed ahead. “We move when you give signal. We go around enemy camp and meet with your horse soldiers on other side. We keep enemy returning to camp.” The gnome gave him a hungry grin. “Then we kill all.” He gestured at Stiger. “You legion gnomes, Wast go you and take camp. You kill there too. Much killing … gods much pleased.”

Stiger couldn’t help but be impressed. He had been uncertain if the gnome had paid any attention during their planning sessions. He apparently had, and more impressively, there had been no trouble between Wast’s legionaries and Cragg’s masses. Stiger thought that a veritable miracle. Then again, the gnomes wanted this fight, and badly.

“And your other commanders, your officers, your chiefs,” Stiger continued, pressing Cragg further, “your subordinates—do they understand the plan as well?”

“Yes, yes,” Cragg assured him and then perked up. “Oh … gnome cavalry go with horses. They come last night.”

“The gnomes have cavalry?” Jeskix interjected, intrigued, looking over.

“Indeed, they do,” Stiger confirmed, glancing over at Jeskix. “In place of horses, they employ wolves as their mounts.”

“Wolves no like dragons,” Cragg added with a sigh. “I hear no fun getting them on dragon backs. Was hard. We only bring few. They bite and nip. No like bites.”

“How many?” Jeskix asked. “How many of these wolf cavalry do you have?”

Cragg gave a shrug of his shoulders as if to say he did not know.

“We’re guessing around a hundred,” Stiger said, then turned his gaze back to Cragg. “Our assault will be straightforward. We wait until the enemy is engaged assaulting the garrison and then I will give the order. At that point we all go forward together, including the cavalry, the legion, and your people, not before. Do you understand me on this point?” Stiger looked meaningfully at the gnome when he did not answer. “We must all go together and at the same time. Only the cavalry will ride ahead when the order is given. Cragg, do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes. I got. No keep telling.”

“It sounds straightforward enough,” Si’Cara said. “But this is war we are talking about here. The enemy always gets a vote.”

“Yes, they do,” Stiger said, wondering for a moment what that vote would be, for they would be attacking a numerically superior force. Even if he did have surprise on his side, just the thought of it made Stiger uncomfortable.

“Either way,” Jeskix said, “in two days’ time we attack soon after the enemy launches their assault. If we don’t succeed, we go hungry. So, let’s make sure we win.”

“And before we step off, the dragons will make an appearance and demonstrate by flying low over the battlefield,” Stiger said, running through the plan again, though they had covered it exhaustively. “With luck, they will distract and disrupt the enemy while we advance and come out into the open. It should buy us a little more time.”

“Someone’s bound to eventually see us,” Jeskix said.

“The closer we get undetected, the more advantageous our position will be, for they will have less time to react. That directly translates into bettering our chances of storming their walls and cutting their assault forces off from their encampment.” Stiger’s eyes intently scanned the scene before him.

In that moment, one of the enemy catapults launched a massive boulder high into the air. The stone’s trajectory ended abruptly with a deep thud as it slammed against the garrison’s wall; the sound of it reverberated across the expansive fields.

Stiger clenched his jaw, a swell of anger and frustration rising within him. Trapped inside the garrison were two entire legions, accompanied by auxiliary cohorts and local militia. Additionally, there was no way to know just how many innocent civilians were huddled within those protective walls. Regardless, Stiger desperately needed those seasoned soldiers on his side, to help tip the balance in his favor when it came to confronting their true enemy, the Cyphan Confederacy.

The empire was beset by numerous crises, and Stiger had formulated strategies to address the critical fires amongst them, at least the most immediate. As he gazed across the snow-blanketed fields toward the enemy encampment and the beleaguered garrison, Stiger knew that a fierce and desperate battle would soon unfold.

The responsibility for this impending conflict weighed heavily upon him, as it was a fight of his own design and choosing. True, he had emerged victorious in battles to the south, but this was where he had opted to alter the course of the war, to catch the enemy off guard and remove one major threat before dealing with the next. He would be marching against a determined enemy, one who had proven to be a difficult and tenacious foe in the past.

With a steely determination, Stiger fixed his eyes on the distant garrison, squinting as he tried to discern the figures of defenders upon the walls.

“Hang on just a little longer,” he breathed, then raised his voice so those around him could hear. “All right, I’ve seen enough. Let’s start heading back.”

He pushed himself backward through the snow and down the other side of the rise. Jeskix and Si’Cara followed. Cragg stayed behind for several heartbeats, his gaze focused outward, before beginning to work his way back as well.

Once they were out of sight, Stiger stood up and, still crouching low, continued his descent toward a depression just beyond the rise they had used as their vantage point to survey the soon-to-be battlefield. A vigilant team of four rangers lay in wait. Armed with bows and positioned strategically to either side of the rise, they kept a watchful eye on the areas surrounding the flanks of the depression.

Safely concealed from view, Stiger straightened his posture. Over the previous two days, the army had begun relocating to a forward camp that was a mere four miles away. While the new location was closer than the original encampment, it was necessary, as they needed a forward base from which to launch their impending assault.

Another consideration had been that Stiger could not see himself marching his army thirty miles through difficult terrain and then expect them to immediately go into battle or spend the night under winter conditions without shelter or the comfort of fire prior to an assault. After such a march alone, the army would be seriously fatigued. The evidence of that were his own legs, which protested every movement.

“I don’t think there’s any need to modify our plans,” Jeskix said. “Nothing has changed, at least so far, and the enemy continues to prepare for their own attack.”

“The night before we initiate our assault, we’ll need to capture another prisoner,” Stiger said to Si’Cara, for such a job would fall upon her rangers, “to confirm the enemy is still adhering to their schedule. With any luck, they won’t notice the missing soldier and will merely assume he deserted to avoid the coming fight.”

“We will ensure that’s taken care of,” Si’Cara assured him. “It should not pose much of a challenge.”

Stiger’s gaze went to the rangers, keeping watch. Two were women. Then his thoughts returned to the fight ahead of them. “No, I don’t suppose it will pose a challenge to your rangers.”

Cragg made his way down from the rise, struggling with the snow that reached up to his waist. Stiger cast a glance at the sky, noticing it was beginning to cloud over. He silently hoped and prayed there wouldn’t be any more snowfall, as it could significantly hinder their attack, particularly for the gnomes, who would need to trudge through and over two miles of snow-covered fields to get to where they needed to go.

A sudden movement in the trees caught his attention. Emerging from the forest were an elf and orc. They stepped out into the clearing. Stiger couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Eli and Therik. Eli was carrying his bow and a bundle full of arrows. He spotted Stiger, grinned broadly, gave a pleased wave, and looked every bit like a prize game cock before moving toward him. Therik followed, wearing new armor that was more in line to what his people used. He looked intimidating and Stiger thought it suited him.

The fact that Eli was present could only mean one thing. “It took you long enough to find that gold,” Stiger remarked.

“I’ve got quite the story to tell,” Eli responded, approaching Stiger with Therik at his side. They both stopped before him. “Quite a story indeed. You are going to absolutely love it.”

“He’s already told me multiple times,” Therik grumbled with a sidelong glance over at Eli that reeked of disgust. “Each time, the story changes some. Honestly, I’ve heard better tales and this one’s likely half made up to begin with. Sounds like he just got lucky, that’s all.”

Out of the corner of his vision, Stiger noticed Si’Cara had tensed up, her expression growing even more rigid than it had been moments before. This reaction prompted a slight scowl from Eli as Si’Cara turned her gaze from him and glanced away, her eyes settling on one of the rangers off to the left.

Eli followed her line of sight and blinked rapidly, evidently taken aback. Stiger looked. One of the female rangers had risen to her feet and was staring back at him, her gaze intense. It rapidly shifted over to anger. Stiger’s friend’s jaw dropped open, then snapped shut several times, clearly struggling to find the right words.

“What’s wrong?” Stiger asked.

“I take it you know her.” Therik looked over at Eli curiously. “She seems to know you, and I’d say she doesn’t look too happy with you. That is becoming a pattern.”

Along with her bundle of arrows, the ranger dropped her bow to the snow and started forward, moving with purpose toward them, specifically for Eli.

Eli glanced at Stiger in what could only be described as unease and perhaps nervousness. “Ah … to borrow a human saying, something Ruga might utter—‘oh bloody shit.’” Eli took a step back and away from her as she continued to close the distance.

“Who is she?” Stiger asked curiously as Eli, who was clearly retreating, took another step backward. He dropped his bow and bundle of arrows to the snow and held up both hands, palms facing the approaching ranger.

“His wife,” Si’Cara breathed quietly.

“Now, Mae,” Eli said in a placating tone, “let’s not be too hasty … I have an explanation … and it’s a good one.”

“Your wife?” Therik asked, looking from Eli to the approaching female ranger. “What?”

“You’re actually married?” Stiger asked. “Unlike your sister, you weren’t kidding about that?”

“Ah, Ben, there’s kidding and then there is kidding. You should know that by now.” Eli grinned at him. He raised his voice slightly in a near formal tone as the elf closed the last few feet between them. “Emperor Bennulius Stiger, I’d like you to meet my wife, Mae’Cara, daughter of the Elantric Warden and love of my life.”

“What?” Stiger looked over at Si’Cara as realization dawned. “Really? It’s true?”

Neither Si’Cara nor Eli answered. Both of their gazes were on Mae’Cara as she advanced. Eli’s comments utterly failed to diffuse the situation, if that had been his intention. Without any hesitation, Mae’Cara’s fist connected solidly with his jaw. The force of the blow sent Eli sprawling backward into the snow, his surprised expression quickly replaced with one of pain and shock.

With her fists clenched and a mixture of fury and determination in her eyes, Mae’Cara loomed over him, asserting her dominance, making it clear that she would not be trifled with and that she was furious with him.

On his back, Eli held up both hands palms toward her. “I think I earned that.”

“You think?” Mae’Cara growled, clearly spitting mad. “You think?”

“I think I’m going to like her. I’ve wanted to do that to him more times than I can count,” Therik said to Stiger.

“Well,” Eli said, eyeing her balled fists, “now that I think on it, I did deserve it.” Eli turned his gaze to Si’Cara. “Mother, it is good to see you again too. You are looking lovely as usual. You know … you haven’t aged a day since I last saw you.”

“You are lucky I do not murder you myself.” Si’Cara glanced at Stiger. “The only thing holding me back from skinning you alive, and enjoying every moment, is that I know your reasons for leaving my daughter.”

“I trust you explained them to her?” Eli said as he slowly, and painfully, pulled himself to his feet. “After all, she did not hunt me down, so that’s something, I suppose, and I was going to come back.”

“I did explain and make excuses for you,” Si’Cara said, “though, as her husband, that should have been your job, not mine.”

“I had to do this alone … .and Mae was liable to stick a knife in me.” Eli noticed his wife’s heated expression, which seemed to boil hotter, and he held up his hands to her again. “Be honest, love, you might have tried to stab me. You know how you get when angry. Your temper makes a violent thunderstorm look tame.”

“I’ve been thinking about gutting you for a very long time, husband.” Mae made the word husband sound like a curse. “You should have told me.”

“I could not.”

“That is what humans call bullshit. I am your wife. We are bonded. We keep no secrets from one another.”

“Now I really like her,” Therik said, elbowing Stiger in the side.

“Shut up, you,” Mae hissed at the orc. “I have never much liked orcs. Do not make me take a serious disliking toward you. It will not end well. On that I promise.”

“Really?” Eli asked with hurt in his tone as he stared at his wife. “You would do me harm? My own wife? I thought you loved me. I am truly shocked.”

Mae, fueled by her anger, attempted to strike Eli once more. With lightning-quick reflexes, Eli was ready for the attack. He evaded her fist and swiftly lunged forward, seizing her within his grasp. As he held her tightly, immobilizing her arms, he pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Initially, she resisted, but then her defiance seemed to dissipate and fall away as she surrendered to the unexpected embrace and passion of the moment.

Observing the surprising turn of events, Therik remarked to Stiger, “This is certainly unexpected, don’t you think? I’m really pleased I listened to your father and came.”

Stiger, equally caught off guard by the sudden shift in the situation, could only nod in agreement, his eyes fixed on the unlikely pair locked in a fervent kiss. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined Eli married. The atmosphere had changed dramatically, leaving him to wonder what would unfold next in this unexpected display of raw emotion.

Then, Eli’s grip relaxed a fraction and, fast as a striking snake, Mae was free. She hammered Eli in the stomach with a fist, causing him to grunt heavily and driving him back and away from her.

“By the gods,” Eli gasped, holding his stomach with a hand, “I’ve missed you and your fire, my love.”

Mae’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she gazed back upon him. She looked for a moment like she would hit him again but then spun and stalked off toward the woods, leaving her bow and her husband behind. With his gaze still fixed on his wife as she disappeared amongst the trees, Eli tenderly touched his split lip, wincing as he looked at the blood on his finger.

“I think, son-in-law,” Si’Cara said carefully, “you had best go after your wife, and make amends—before she does decide to stick a blade in your stomach instead of a fist and gut you. Her temper, as you know, is far worse than mine.”

“Right,” Eli said and started after her, then hesitated and looked at Stiger. “I will catch up with you later and fill you in. But the short of it is, I found all the gold—well, most of it, enough of it to make a real difference—but Magnus got away. The treasury is on the way back to the capital as we speak.” He took another step after his wife, then stopped again and looked back. “Did I tell you it was quite an adventure? I’m sure you already guessed this part, but I was magnificent, simply magnificent.”

“Of course you were.” Stiger resisted a grin.

“Patting yourself on the back again?” Therik asked. “Does the effort of doing so ever get tiring?”

“I ask you—if not me, then who will do the patting?” Eli asked innocently. “Seriously, Therik.”

“Perhaps your wife?” Therik asked, then gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe not. She might be one to add to the list of people who want to murder you. You seem to be continually adding to that list.”

Stiger jerked his chin in the direction Mae had gone. “I think you should get after your wife and do whatever you must do to make amends. I need you for what lies ahead. If she guts you, you will be useless to me, and you know how I hate useless people.”

“I do know, and Mae might still try, but that’s part of the fun of being married. Maybe one day, your own wife will try to murder you. Trust me, that will add some excitement and spice to your life.” Eli grinned at him full on, then jogged after his wife. Over his shoulder, he called back, “I’m being serious, Ben, she might. It’s an elf thing. We will talk tonight.”

“I’m counting on it.” Shaking his head, Stiger watched until Eli disappeared into the forest.

“Is he always so annoying?” Jeskix asked.

“Unfortunately, he is.” Si’Cara let go a heavy breath. “But he is the best ranger there ever was and likely will ever be, though I will never tell him that. It is one of the reasons I’ve not murdered him yet. That and my daughter loves him with a passion. I would not break her heart.” With that, she started for the woods herself. After a moment, Jeskix moved after the warden, leaving Stiger with Therik and Cragg.

Stiger turned to Therik and regarded the orc for a long moment. “And what are you doing here? I thought you were watching over my father.”

“When Eli returned, your father insisted I go and help you. He thought I was intimidating guests and visitors, senators—if you can believe that.”

“And you weren’t?” Stiger asked, knowing his friend likely was doing just that.

“All I did was glower a bit when people got difficult with him, and they nearly shit themselves brown in response. He jumped at the chance to get rid of me and basically ordered me to go with Eli. We both grabbed the next dragon out. The flight was damned cold, but I hear there will soon be a fight to heat things up. So, that will make the trip worth the effort”—Therik looked at Cragg with a wary expression and hesitated before continuing—“even if there are thousands of gnomes about.”

“You no worry,” Cragg said, looking up at Therik. “I like.”

“I find that very comforting,” Therik said wryly. He sounded far from convinced.

“Besides, we kill enemy soon in big battle,” Cragg said. “No need to kill one orcy. Plenty of other kill.”

Therik shifted uncomfortably. He looked at Stiger with a pained expression. “Hopefully the battle will be soon, yes? I’d hate to drag things out and have the little bastards become bored and start thinking on who else they might want to go after.”

Stiger felt a bubble of amusement, then sobered and glanced in the direction of the garrison and enemy camp. “Soon enough, my friend. We are going over to the attack soon enough.”

“How soon?” Therik pressed, his gaze drifting back to Cragg, who had started for the trees and was working his way steadily through the snow.

“Two days from now,” Stiger said.

Therik let go a breath. “To be honest, considering how gnomes like to kill my kind, I was hoping it would be sooner than that.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The day had begun with a frigid and oppressive atmosphere, as if the heavens themselves disapproved of what was to come. The clouds, which loomed low in the sky, appeared dark and threatening, casting a menacing shadow over the landscape. A light snowfall had dusted the ground the night before, adding a delicate layer of white to the existing blanket of snow and ice.

Stiger stood at a safe distance from the edge of the forest, not terribly far from the spot where he had previously surveyed the enemy’s encampment and the besieged garrison just a couple of days prior. Behind him, mostly hidden from view within the dense woods, the army was maneuvering into position and assembling in anticipation of the forthcoming engagement.

Stiger estimated that their preparations would soon be complete, likely within a quarter of an hour, as the army had been on the move since well before dawn. Once they finally emerged from the cover of the trees and advanced into the open terrain, the battle line would extend for approximately a quarter of a mile.

The sounds of gnomes, elves, and Vass troops moving into position and readying themselves filled the air with a cacophony that reverberated throughout the trees. The crunching of snow beneath numerous feet, the commands of officers, and the chatter of soldiers blended into a chaotic symphony. This discordant chorus grated on Stiger’s nerves, causing him to feel on edge.

However, Stiger reminded himself that the enemy encampment, as well as the nearest enemy forces, was well over two miles away. The noise that seemed so loud to his ears would be inaudible to them.

Despite the tension that filled the air, Stiger knew that their careful preparations and positioning would soon give way to the order to move up, then advance, followed eventually by the clash of battle, where the true mettle of both armies would be tested.

To ensure the army’s assembly remained undetected, elven rangers had stealthily dispersed throughout the farm fields beyond the forest and along the flanks of the army before the first light of dawn. Their mission was to neutralize any enemy forces that ventured too close to the assembly point. As far as Stiger knew, the rangers had not yet been called into action; the enemy’s focus seemed to be directed elsewhere this day, particularly on the garrison.

Stiger was in a clearing that had been created by the collapse of a massive tree, which had taken down several other smaller trees in its fall to the ground. The fallen timber had been cleared away and the brush removed. Some of these remnants now fueled the fire that crackled and flickered just a few feet from Stiger. Since the clearing was in a depression and well away from the forest’s edge, perhaps a half mile, Stiger had felt comfortable starting a single fire and taking the risk for some warmth.

The low-burning fire offered only a modest amount of warmth, and anyone who approached too closely would find themselves soon engulfed in smoke whenever the wind shifted even slightly. In truth, the fire seemed to produce more smoke than heat and flame.

Taha’Leeth was sitting on a log that Stiger had dragged over to the fire. She appeared to be attempting to absorb as much warmth as she could. Dog lay sprawled at her feet, enjoying the cozy proximity to the fire. Taha’Leeth’s bow and a bundle of arrows leaned against the log beside her. Ruga and his men, along with the rest of the headquarters guard, were stationed around the clearing. They would join Stiger on the battlefield under Ruga’s direct command. They maintained a respectful distance from him and his wife, affording the pair a semblance of privacy.

A sudden movement to Stiger’s left caught his attention. Prefect Hux confidently strode into the clearing, returning a salute from one of the guards before approaching Stiger. He came to attention and saluted crisply. In Stiger’s estimation, Hux epitomized the ideal cavalry officer: He was professional, intelligent, and diligent in his duties, with a natural aptitude for leadership that inspired the loyalty and respect of his troops. He had also proven himself repeatedly in battle.

“We’re in position and ready to move out on your word, sir,” Hux said. “My cavalry wing stands ready for action.”

“Are your horses rested?” Stiger inquired, noting that Prefect Hux had only arrived the previous night. The man still appeared fatigued, evidently having managed little rest himself. His lips were chapped and cracked from the biting cold, and he sported a beard, which was unusual for him.

“They’re weary, sir, but they’ll be able to perform as required,” Hux reassured Stiger. “We’ll secure the gap between the camp and the siege works, then hold our position long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Once the situation is under control, we’ll regroup and ride around the western side of the hill and garrison, toward the Barrens. As instructed, we’ll pursue and eliminate any fleeing enemies and work to keep them from assembling into a coherent force that can offer any serious resistance or present a future threat.”

Stiger nodded in approval, pleased with Hux’s understanding of the plan. “Very good,” he commended, confident in the ability of the cavalry to execute their crucial role in the upcoming battle. Stiger knew that Hux’s professionalism, leadership, and aggressive nature would be essential in ensuring the success of their mission, and he felt reassured knowing the cavalry was in such capable hands.

“However, sir … ” Hux shifted his stance uneasily. “I must admit that both my men and our horses are exhausted, nearly spent from the journey to get here. I wish we had more time to recuperate before engaging in battle. There may be limitations to our ability to pursue the enemy, as pushing our horses too hard could cause many to go lame, which I’m sure you wouldn’t want. The ride to reach this point was already long and challenging, and I confess that I may have pushed the pace more than I should have, sir, to meet the timetable.”

Stiger nodded empathetically, comprehending the implications of Hux’s words. If the enemy were to retreat en masse, it was likely that the majority would escape.

“Do what you can to harry them without overexerting your troopers and horses. Our primary objective is to break the enemy, keep them running, and deter them from regrouping or returning anytime soon. After pursuing them for several dozen miles, you can ease up and make your way back.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll get the job done properly. You have my word on that.”

“I expect so. Return to your command,” Stiger instructed. “We shouldn’t have to wait long. The latest report indicated that the enemy had moved into position and was preparing to assault the garrison. I anticipate their attack will commence shortly. Once it does, the army will move forward and into the jump-off position at the tree line.”

“Yes, sir.” Hux saluted and turned to leave.

“Hux?” Stiger called out as a thought struck him.

“Sir?” Hux turned back, attentive.

“The garrison is unaware of our presence here. Once the assault begins, if the opportunity arises, dispatch a rider to inform them of who we are and request that they sally forth, posthaste, in support of our attack. We’ll be outnumbered, so any assistance they can provide will be invaluable and possibly critical to the success of the day.”

“I will, sir,” Hux promised. “If practical, I’ll make it a top priority.”

With that reassurance, despite their fatigue and the challenges that lay ahead, Stiger knew that his horse soldiers, Hux in particular, would do everything in their power to accomplish the mission he had given them. Stiger acknowledged Hux with a nod, and the cavalry officer strode away.

Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, Stiger reflected on the situation. He had considered sending a ranger the previous night to notify the garrison of their presence before the attack, but after discussing it with Si’Cara, they had both concluded that the risk was too great.

While the ranger would likely succeed in sneaking through the lines, there was still a slim chance that he or she might be captured by the enemy, potentially jeopardizing the element of surprise for the coming attack. As a result, the garrison would remain ignorant of their presence, just like the enemy.

Stiger was about to share his thoughts with his wife when an elven ranger strode into the clearing and approached him. The ranger was tall and slender, with a strong yet youthful face framed by short-cropped brown hair. He carried a bow. A tightly wrapped bundle of arrows hung at his side, secured by a leather tie.

“The enemy has assembled nearly their entire force on the siege works, displaying their numbers for the defenders to see,” the ranger reported. “This isn’t their assault force, which has advanced forward beyond the siege works but not yet initiated their attack.”

“Do you have an estimate of their strength? The size of the demonstration force?” Stiger inquired.

“Not an accurate one, but if I had to guess, I’d say around seventy-five thousand, with an additional thirty thousand in the assault force.”

Stiger nodded, deducing that a significant portion of the enemy must still be in their camp, at least ten to fifteen thousand, if original estimates were to be taken as gospel. “Do you have anything else to report?”

“No,” the ranger said.

“Thank you for the update.”

The elf bowed respectfully before departing. Stiger turned and gazed in the direction of the enemy, as if he could somehow see through the dense forest that separated them. He absentmindedly kicked some snow on the ground and moved closer to the fire, only to return to his previous position moments later.

Taha’Leeth glanced up from the fire. “You need to relax a bit. You’re starting to pace.”

Stiger halted, surprised to realize that he had been pacing. The pressure of the moment weighed heavily on him, intensifying his uncertainty about their current strategy. The what-ifs were beginning to plague him. Had he made the right decision to attack?

They—he … was about to embark on a venture that was nothing short of a high-stakes gamble. Stiger was taking a massive risk, and it could easily go tits up if he muffed it or if he had misjudged the situation and the enemy.

From what Nepturus could ascertain, Stiger’s forces comprised approximately sixty thousand gnomes, just over eight thousand elves, two hundred Vass, his small detachment of legionaries, and Hux’s cavalry wing. The additional gnomes and elves being transported by dragons were still arriving, but they would not be available in time for the upcoming battle. While his available forces were substantial, the enemy still held a numerical advantage, which made Stiger uneasy about the coming fight.

“Relax,” Taha’Leeth urged gently. “You’ve done everything within your power for now. The enemy is unaware of our presence. They wouldn’t have committed their forces to attack the garrison if they knew we were here and preparing to step off.”

Stiger nodded and exhaled deeply. “You’re right, of course.”

“Maybe you should sit,” Taha’Leeth suggested, patting the log beside her. “Enjoy the fire with me.”

“I can’t,” Stiger replied. “Standing helps me think.”

“I understand, I really do, and at this point, you may be overthinking things, but all good leaders do that when it comes to a fight.”

Stiger’s gaze shifted to her bow and then to the sword she wore at her side. As he contemplated the imminent clash, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of anticipation and concern. He knew that every soldier, gnome, elf, and Vass under his command would be crucial in determining the outcome of the battle.

Stiger looked away. The stakes were high, but he also understood the importance of maintaining a clear and focused mind as they prepared to face a formidable adversary. He wondered if he’d be able to do that with her at risk, and in the midst of the fighting. His gaze flicked back to her bow.

“Do not even consider trying it,” she admonished with steel in her tone. “We’ve already discussed this. When the army goes into battle, every sword and bow will be essential if we are to see victory. Stop worrying about me. I’m not a delicate blossom, meant to be displayed in a vase, admired but never touched.”

Stiger nodded, mentally acknowledging that he couldn’t win this argument. Hours ago, in the tent they shared, he had already conceded defeat. There was no point in fighting a battle he’d already lost.

Davin entered the clearing, capturing Stiger’s attention. The man appeared unarmed, at least overtly. He wore simple brown pants and a tunic, a stark contrast to the battle-ready attire of the others.

“Good morning, Imperator,” Davin greeted warmly. “It seems like a fine day for a battle. A bit chilly, perhaps, but I imagine things will heat up soon enough. At least, that’s been my experience with battles.”

“Where have you been?” Stiger inquired, as he hadn’t seen Davin since their arrival by dragonback several days prior. Stiger had even dispatched men to locate him, but they had been unsuccessful in ferreting out where he had gone.

“Oh, here and there,” Davin replied nonchalantly, then thought for a moment and apparently decided to give more. “I’m not particularly fond of large gatherings of people, let alone gnomes and Vass. Elves make me uneasy too, especially considering our history. So, after some personal reflection, I decided to make myself scarce.”

“That answer isn’t good enough.” Stiger’s mind raced with the possibility that Davin could have gone to the enemy and spilled the beans on them. Had he betrayed their plans? After a moment’s thought, Stiger realized that his suspicion was likely fueled by the stress of the moment. Davin had given him no reason to doubt his loyalty, at least not yet. It was unjust and uncharitable to leap to conclusions without any evidence. It was also unworthy of him, and yet, Stiger found himself still questioning the man’s motives.

“It’s the only answer you’ll receive, as it’s nothing less than the truth.” Davin’s gaze drifted toward the enemy. “I intend to stay by your side in case my assistance is required. If not, I’ll merely observe. The upcoming battle is more within your realm of expertise, and I’d prefer to conserve my energy for when it is really needed.”

“Do you sense any of those Masella out there?” Stiger inquired.

“No,” Davin admitted. “And even if they were present, I wouldn’t be able to detect them. My abilities don’t function that way, and neither do theirs.”

Davin’s response only served to heighten the tension that hung in the air and increase the stress that Stiger was feeling. The uncertainty surrounding the potential presence of Masella added an extra layer of complexity to an already challenging situation. With so much at stake, Stiger knew that he would need to remain vigilant and adaptable as they confronted the enemy, prepared for whatever surprises might come their way.

His dissatisfaction grew as he struggled with the vague answers Davin had provided. Not only was the man an unpredictable element on Stiger’s abacus, but the Masella and their god, Mastel, were equally enigmatic … an unknown. Stiger’s lack of knowledge about the man before him and the deity his enemy followed troubled him.

Davin approached the fire, extending his hands toward its faint warmth. He exchanged a friendly nod with Taha’Leeth, who regarded him cautiously while he rubbed his hands together. Dog simply slept on as if he couldn’t be troubled by what was going on around him.

Stiger inhaled deeply and exhaled. His frustration intensified. He disliked facing uncertainties in battle, but it seemed that the unknowns were inevitable. That was generally the way with battles. You planned to the best of your ability and then adjusted as needed once the fight was joined. Still, he was concerned about the Masella. When he could, he resolved to learn more about the god Mastel. For now, he needed to concentrate on the impending conflict.

Taha’Leeth shifted her attention from Davin back to Stiger and offered a reassuring smile. His frustration receded slightly as the corner of her lip curled up in amusement. She understood his worries, particularly since the majority of his army was not comprised of legionaries. For this battle, he would be relying primarily on gnomes.

Stiger had witnessed gnomes in combat, had seen them fight on numerous occasions, but he had little idea of what to expect from Cragg’s ragtag and cobbled-together army. Would they hold their ground when the going got tough or would they crumble under pressure? He just did not know, for gnomes were hard enough to understand on the best of days, making it difficult to anticipate and predict their actions.

“Ah, Ben,” Eli exclaimed as he entered the clearing, accompanied by Therik. He held his unstrung bow, along with a bundle of arrows. “You’re up early. One might think there’s a battle … ”

Eli’s voice trailed off as his gaze locked onto Davin, who was still standing by the fire. Stiger’s friend came to an abrupt halt. As he stared at Davin, the blood seemed to drain from Eli’s face.

“Hello, Eli,” Davin greeted him. “It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

Eyes still fixed on Davin, Eli hesitantly stepped closer, appearing as if he had just encountered a ghost. He glanced at Stiger, seeking confirmation or some sort of an explanation, before returning his disbelieving gaze to Davin.

Stiger couldn’t help but scowl as the tension in the clearing grew. Therik, puzzled by the interaction, looked back and forth between the two, clearly trying to decipher the situation.

“You should be dead,” Eli whispered, gesturing at Davin with his unstrung bow.

“It’s me,” Davin assured him, a wry smile on his lips. “Alive and well, and in the flesh too.”

“What are you doing here?” Eli demanded, his voice icy and brusque. “I need to know.”

“Is that how you greet an old comrade?” Davin countered. “With suspicion and interrogations?”

“We may have once fought alongside each other,” Eli retorted, “but we were never friends. So, I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”

“Simply put, I’m here to help.”

“Help?” Eli echoed, his disbelief evident. “Really? You’re here to aid us in the upcoming battle? Why? You’ve only ever pursued your own interests in the past. What’s your angle now?”

“Yes, I’m here to help,” Davin reaffirmed, gesturing toward Stiger. “I was invited, and my interests today lie with the empire.”

Eli’s gaze shifted to Stiger, the question in his friend’s eyes unmistakable. Stiger gave a curt nod, feeling a scowl darken his features once more. Eli’s typical joviality had vanished, replaced by a somber and critical demeanor.

This unexpected reunion seemed to have unsettled Eli deeply. The history between him and Davin was evidently far more complicated than met the eye. As the tension in the clearing continued to rise, it was clear that the presence of Davin would be a point of contention. When Stiger had accepted him, he had expected nothing less, but not this reaction from Eli.

“Where is your daughter?” Eli’s gaze fixed on Davin. “Please tell me she’s not here as well.”

“Not here,” Davin confirmed, “and not with this army, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Eli’s shoulders sagged slightly, which Stiger interpreted as a sign of relief. The fact that his friend was so affected by this reunion worried Stiger greatly. He couldn’t help but wonder where—or when—they had first met. There was undoubtedly a significant story behind their connection, one he did not have time to explore this day. But learn it Stiger would.

“How long has it been, Eli?” Davin asked.

Eli’s tone was tinged with displeasure. “Not long enough. I would have been content never to lay eyes on you again—you and your daughter.”

“If only all reunions could be as joyful as this one,” Therik remarked to Stiger, drawing the attention of both Davin and Eli. The elf seemed far from pleased with the orc’s comment. “I don’t think I’ve had tears brought to my eyes like this since we were unable stop at that bakery in the capital before we left. Ben was right, he makes the best bread.”

Therik reached up and feigned wiping an imaginary tear away from his right eye. He even gave a sniff.

Stiger saw Eli stare warily at Davin. His friend didn’t often pass up an opportunity to take a jibe at Therik, especially when it came to the orc’s ability to eat everything in sight.

“Then again,” Therik said, “his wife wants to murder him, so this reunion sort of fits with the pattern. Ben, that was certainly exciting, don’t you think? For a moment there, I thought he might die from shock, and here he keeps prattling on about how much he enjoys excitement. So, Eli, does she still want to kill you?”

It took a moment and some clear effort on his part, but Eli’s demeanor shifted, returning to his usual lightheartedness, the persona he generally displayed to the outside world. He grinned broadly, but Stiger could tell it was forced this time. “Not anymore. Mae and I made up last night. She has forgiven me, as I knew she would. It was inevitable, you know. I mean, how could she not? I am just so loveable.”

“Really?” Therik asked, pretending to conduct a visual search around the clearing. “Then where is she?”

“She has rangering duties to attend to,” Eli explained haughtily. “The warden put her to work scouting the enemy. I thought that would be obvious, especially since she is a ranger. Honestly, Therik, you can be quite a dullard.”

“Uh-huh,” Therik scoffed, his disbelief plain. Then he sobered and clenched both fists. “Using big words again can also be dangerous.”

Stiger noticed that Davin’s gaze had become intensely focused on Therik. He seemed particularly interested in Stiger’s green-skinned friend. What about the former orc king was so intriguing to him?

“Seriously,” Eli insisted, “we made up last night.”

“I bet you did,” Therik teased. “Tell me more. Really, I want to hear it all. Did she hit you a bit first? Rough you up?” Therik made a show of examining Eli’s face, squinting as he did it. “You don’t look all that bruised. No more than what she gave you a couple of days back. So, what really transpired? You can be honest with us. I am sure even Ben would love to hear more.”

“Spare me, please,” Taha’Leeth said with a groan. “I believe I have heard more than enough. I do not need to learn about their love life.”

“I would never divulge the details of what happens between the sheets,” Eli declared gamely, and in a scandalized manner, “but since we didn’t have any sheets—or a bed, for that matter—we were sleeping in a lean-to … so why not … I … ”

Another elf, a female ranger this time, swiftly entered the clearing, drawing everyone’s attention. She had clearly run from wherever she had come from, for her cheeks were red and she was slightly out of breath. She came to a halt before Stiger, urgency in her eyes. Stiger knew before she even opened her mouth what she had to report.

“I have been sent from the warden to inform you that the enemy’s assault on the garrison has commenced. They are attacking with significant strength. The warden advises that we move the army forward and into position and prepare to advance.”

Stiger’s thoughts shifted away from Davin, Eli, and Therik to the matter at hand, the coming battle. The time to step off was fast approaching. That, at the moment, was all that mattered. He felt his heart begin to beat faster.

“Understood. Let’s get the army into position.” Stiger’s voice was firm and resolute. He turned and looked around. “Ruga, the time has come for this dance to begin. Dispatch the messengers immediately.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Stiger stood at the edge of the forest, his gaze sweeping across the snow-covered fields toward the stronghold that the besieged garrison called home, Nebernacum. The cacophony of the enemy’s assault reached them even from this distance, a tinny, relentless medley of shouts, cries, and screams that shocked with its intensity.

Hundreds of ladders had been raised against the fortress’s walls. Stiger could imagine an equal number having been thrown up on the sides that lay hidden from his view. The figures scaling the ladders appeared minuscule, almost ant-like from his vantage point.

Clusters of warriors congregated at the top of each ladder, where fierce struggles raged between the defenders and those attempting to get over the top of the wall and onto the defensive platform. The mini-battles were visibly desperate and brutal. Stiger saw more than one man struck or knocked off from a ladder, only to fall to his death below.

A ladder suddenly gave way, having been pushed back and off the wall. It teetered backward in what seemed like slow motion. Dozens of men clung helplessly to it as it plummeted to the frozen ground, either crushing those clinging on for dear life or hurling them free.

Thousands of soldiers stood in orderly lines, patiently awaiting their turn to ascend the numerous ladders already placed against the walls. More ladders were being carried forward, past the siege works and up the hill, with assault teams following close behind.

Archers perched on the walls, leaned over, and unleashed a continual stream of arrows upon the attackers below, who desperately raised their shields to ward off the deadly projectiles. At the same time, men with bows stationed below loosed their own missiles up at those firing down. Despite their efforts, dozens had already fallen beneath the relentless rain of death.

Stiger inhaled sharply as he observed the ferocious combat unfolding before his eyes. He understood what was happening right now to the attackers, what they were going through, the personal nightmare of the assault. He himself had scaled such ladders and been locked in a fierce battle not only for his own personal survival, but for the lives of his comrades and men as well.

He had made the deadly climb up those very ladders more than once, struggling mightily and then, against all odds, seizing the top of the wall and becoming a veritable king of the hill for a few mere moments, even while the enemy tried to take that hard-won accolade from him by force.

Once securely on top and on the defensive platform, he had had to maintain his position, just long enough for his comrades to climb the ladder themselves and provide the much-needed reinforcement. Then the arduous and dangerous task of clearing the wall itself came next. That had been brutal and hard work.

Stiger had also been a defender against such an assault. He recalled Fort Covenant and the desperate fight that had followed. The Rivan had tried to take the fort from him, and they’d nearly succeeded.

Stiger had a sudden flash of Varus’s face. He had marched into Fort Covenant with Corporal Varus, but not out with him. His gut churned at the memory. After all these years, the loss of the corporal still hurt. The brutal and vicious nature of the conflict playing out before him only served to dredge up such memories, for Stiger had many to draw upon.

Positioned behind Stiger and just past the edge of the tree line, the army had advanced and remained concealed amongst the trees. They had been prepared to launch their assault for a quarter of an hour, but Stiger had held back on giving the order. He wanted the enemy to become further embroiled in the chaos of the assault before he made his own move.

And so, the men, elves, Vass, and gnomes all waited patiently for the command that would ultimately propel them across the frozen fields and into the throes of battle. Waiting was not easy, especially when action was at hand and there was a battle to be fought. In fact, it could be downright torture.

Taha’Leeth stood to Stiger’s right. She was a steadfast presence, a rock, her face stony and expressionless as she watched the struggle play out in the distance.

Eli maintained a vigilant stance on his immediate left. Like most everyone else, his friend’s gaze was on the fighting. Eli had seen his fair share of such struggles, and with Stiger too. Still, there was a tortured look within the elf’s gaze. Was he, too, haunted by memories of Fort Covenant?

Just behind them were Therik and Ruga, accompanied by Ruga’s men and the remainder of the headquarters guard. A few yards to Stiger’s immediate right, the Vass warriors were assembled and prepared for battle.

Flanked by twelve warriors, all clad in their distinctive black armor, Jeskix stood at the forefront of the Vass formation. Stiger had come to learn that these individuals were his Guardians. They comprised an elite bodyguard unit that was handpicked by each Knight of the Vass. They were supposedly the best of the best, when it came to warriors, and would sacrifice themselves willingly in service to the Knight. To be selected as a Guardian was apparently a very high honor in Vass culture.

Immediately behind them, the bulk of the Vass infantry waited, a force two hundred strong. These hulking soldiers had been assembled into a tightly organized block, spanning five disciplined ranks. Bearing round shields and large swords strapped securely to their backs, the Vass exuded an air of menace and restrained potential for violence. They appeared eager and primed for the ensuing action.

Vass officers moved amongst the ranks, checking and speaking with each warrior. The Vass may be an alien species, but Stiger had done the same with his own legionaries on more than one occasion. No matter the race, some things, it seemed, were just universal to armies.

To Stiger’s left stood the elven contingent. Adorned in gleaming plate armor that seemed to shimmer beneath the day’s overcast and muted light, their presence radiated an aura of steadfast determination. The elves were armed with slender swords and oval body shields. Looking quite stoic, they were organized into a battle line six ranks deep.

Dozens of sturdy, rough-hewn ladders lay on the ground before each rank, accompanied by hundreds of small bundles of tightly bound sticks. These bundles were designed to be hurled into the enemy’s defensive trench at strategic locations, creating makeshift bridges that would allow the ladder and assault teams to traverse the obstacle with ease, or so it was hoped.

Si’Cara was not currently in view. This absence did not overly concern Stiger, for he had caught a glimpse of her not too long ago, clad in a magnificent suit of armor that had been polished to such an extraordinary degree that it bore a mirror-like finish.

The intricate design and remarkable craftsmanship of her armor might lead one to believe that it was purely ceremonial, for show. However, Stiger knew better. Everything the elves wielded for war, from their ornate swords and shields to their armor, were meticulously crafted works of art. That said, though they were decorative, they were primarily designed for functionality and durability, each piece fashioned by a master armorer. Amongst the nobility of the empire, elven swords were highly prized.

Eli had shared with him that only the oldest and most distinguished families, like the warden’s, possessed such rare and exquisite suits of armor. And some, like Si’Cara’s, were even imbued with magical properties. What those properties were, Stiger had no idea. Even Eli hadn’t known. Sadly, according to his friend, the art of crafting such things and imbuing them with power had long since vanished into the mists of time.

When Stiger had last spotted Si’Cara, she had been working her way through the ranks of her warriors, attentively inspecting her people or engaging them in conversation. Her presence and reassuring words likely served to calm nerves and bolster spirits. Once again, here was an activity that transcended races, another commonality between armies.

Situated at the flanks on either side, the gnomes had assembled and were most likely waiting with growing impatience. Stiger couldn’t see them or Hux’s cavalry wing, which was positioned off to his far right. The majority of his army was concealed from his view by the trees. That did not bother him overly much, for messengers had reported that all of his forces were in position and waiting.

The sound of crunching snow captured Stiger’s attention, prompting him to turn slightly. Davin approached, joining them, his gaze going to the action across the fields. Stiger scrutinized the man for a moment, noting that he still appeared unarmed, at least outwardly.

Shifting his focus back to the ongoing struggle, Stiger examined the enemy’s continuing attempt to storm the garrison. As of yet, they had failed to achieve any significant progress in breaching the walls.

So far, the garrison’s defenders were holding the attackers off with apparent ease. After all, there were two entire legions, along with several auxiliary cohorts, within the fortress. Overcoming not just the walls, but highly trained and experienced men would not be such an easy job, and it was showing. If anything, the legion was good at making men into superb killers.

Stiger felt a surge of pride as the legionary artillery atop the walls unleashed a barrage of formidable torsion-driven bolts down upon those waiting in orderly lines for their turn at the ladders. That they had held off on using the artillery was a clear message that told everyone below what waited for them. Even the sturdiest of shields proved futile against the devastating power of these weapons. Stiger watched as one bolt hammered an armored man straight into the ground, holding him there while he squirmed on his back. He had seen such sights before.

Surrounding the ladders, and grouped around them, teams of men worked to secure each ladder’s base, ensuring that they remained in place and weren’t pushed away from the wall, which the defenders were actively attempting to do. Additional men, equipped with oversized shields, endeavored to provide a semblance of protection and cover for their comrades’ efforts, attempting to shield them from the onslaught of attacks from above.

The attackers, mostly exposed, faced a number of challenges and threats as they contended not only with the devastating artillery and relentless arrows, but also with the determined efforts of the defenders up on the wall who were hurling a variety of things downward on the heads and shields of those below. Rocks, masonry, boards, boiling pitch, oil, water, and baked sand would likely be raining down upon the enemy clustered around the ladders.

Despite the gruesome nature of the struggle, Stiger understood that this was simply the reality of war, the face of an assault upon a prepared position with a determined foe holding it. The attackers wanted to breach the defenses, while the defenders were hell-bent on keeping them at bay and out of the fortress.

Stiger continued to observe the unfolding chaos in silence, those around him doing the same. Each of them were patiently awaiting the order to advance. Though anxious, Stiger refused to betray any signs of unease to those immediately around him. He needed to appear as an unflappable pillar of strength. That said, Eli, Therik, and Taha’Leeth knew his true feelings, the anxiousness that was running through him.

We are in position, Stovan’s voice resonated in Stiger’s mind, the connection between them personal and direct. He could sense that. No one else could overhear their conversation. Just give us the word, and we will execute your demonstration as requested.

Stiger’s gaze drifted upward, focusing on the dense blanket of clouds that obscured the sky above. He scrutinized them carefully, searching for any sign of the elusive creatures he knew were out there, and saw nothing.

For the upcoming demonstration, Stiger had chosen to utilize only four of the colossal creatures. He wanted the enemy temporarily distracted, nothing more. The remaining six were held in reserve, stationed discreetly a short distance away. That there might be Cyphan mixed in with the enemy had kept him from showing everything at his disposal. For all Stiger knew, and the Vass concurred, the Cyphan might have some way of communicating with those around Asti. So, Stiger dare not take the risk of showing more strength than needed.

The other dragons were being held back as part of a contingency plan, a reserve, in the unlikely event the unthinkable happened and his attack failed. If that occurred, either way, he’d be destroying and scattering the enemy army this day, removing one threat to the empire. Only, Stiger could not afford to have his attack fail. He needed it very much to succeed and to also conserve the dragons’ strength for when he really needed it in the weeks and months to come.

Stiger hesitated, focusing his thoughts and reaching out to the dragon. Not yet. I don’t need the distraction yet.

We will wait, the dragon’s voice said in his mind, its mental tone steady and patient. Just call when you’re ready.

I will.

Stiger’s eyes were locked on the assault unfolding off in the distance before him. The chaos of battle was mesmerizing and, at the same time, horrifying. He took a step closer, leaning his hand against the trunk of a tree. He strained to scrutinize the conflict in greater detail, eager to discern some vital information that could aid them when the time came to press forward.

Despite his best efforts, however, Stiger found no significant revelations within the chaos. Disappointed but undeterred, he shifted his gaze to the enemy’s formidable siege works. There, he observed solid blocks of infantry, amassed atop and behind the walls that their adversaries had painstakingly erected to keep the legions from sortieing out of Nebernacum.

These fighters were not arranged in the disciplined fashion of the legions, organized into precise ranks and files. Instead, they resembled a vast, disordered horde, their numbers clustered into rough rectangular blocks of infantry. Stiger surmised that these blocks of warriors belonged to various tribes, each led by a headman who commanded the loyalty and respect of his people.

“How many do you think they’ve committed to this assault?” Stiger inquired, turning to look back at Therik for his assessment. Although he had already received a report from one of the rangers, and had made his own assessment on the matter, Stiger valued Therik’s judgment and sought a second opinion. It was also a way to pass the time, more than anything else. Talking things out helped to calm his nerves and occasionally a useful idea came from it.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Therik confessed as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the assault off in the distance. After a moment’s contemplation, he shrugged. “It appears as though they’ve deployed the majority of their forces for this engagement. If you look at their siege works, there are thousands of men either manning them or formed up in reserve. They are not participating in the assault, or at least show no indication of doing so.”

“They made a display of strength before launching the assault,” Stiger pointed out. “That’s it.”

“Indeed, it was an attempt to intimidate and demoralize the defenders,” Taha’Leeth chimed in. “By showcasing the bulk of their forces, the enemy conveyed their overwhelming might for all to see. As a result, as we suspected, it’s likely that their camp is sparsely manned, with only a few thousand warriors remaining at most, perfect for an attack against it.”

“This first effort at overcoming the garrison’s walls is most likely designed to test the defenders’ capabilities, and resolve,” Stiger said. “The enemy is learning what they’re up against so they can prepare for a more serious attack in the future, one that has a better chance of success.”

“Most probably.” Therik pointed. “Those formations on the siege works are a serious threat, though. Once we step off and are spotted, it will be they who turn to face us directly, especially those nearest.”

“Yes,” Stiger said with a nod, “we can assume they will do just that. Once we’re inside the camp, though, if we can overwhelm it quick enough, that will trap the rest of the enemy army out in the open. They will be spread out around the hill, with no safe place to hole up in. Then, we’ll only face one portion of their army, not the entire force. With some good fortune, we will be able to break them in detail and get the rest to eventually run, to flee.”

“Why no go?”

Stiger looked down and to this right. Cragg stood there, looking up at him and wearing midnight black armor and a horsehair plumed helmet, with a curved sword slung over his back. The gnome’s armor was so black, it seemed to absorb the day’s light.

“Why no go?” Cragg asked again, this time stamping a foot. The gnome was clearly irritated, angry even. “We wait and wait. People no happy with wait. They say go. So I come find out why no go.”

“I am waiting for the enemy to become more engaged, to exhaust themselves,” Stiger said. “We will go forward soon.”

“When?” Cragg pressed. “When go?”

“Soon,” Stiger said.

“How soon?”

Stiger was becoming irritated. “In a short while. Just wait for my signal.”

“Bah,” Cragg said, and pointed at the enemy. “We go now.”

“No,” Stiger said firmly, looking back down on the gnome. “We will wait”—Stiger tapped his chest armor with a thumb—“until I give the order. Got that?”

With a disgusted snort, Cragg marched away in a huff, his frustration evident in each determined step, more a little stomp than anything else.

“The bloodthirsty bastard just wants the killing to start,” Therik said.

Stiger’s gaze followed the gnome for a moment before returning to the intensifying battle. The sound from the assault was growing as more and more ladders went up against the walls and the enemy committed additional men to the fight.

“What if those formations are not for demonstration purposes?” Davin asked. “Have you considered that?”

Stiger looked over at the man. “What do you mean?”

“What if they are the second or third waves and are simply waiting for the order to go in?” Davin pointed. “If you look over to the right there, one of the formations behind the siege works has a red standard that is in the shape of a square. Do you see it?”

It took Stiger a moment to find the unit in question.

“Now look just to the right of the formation. Don’t those look like ladders piled up there?”

Stiger did as instructed. There was a stack of something there. “Scaling ladders.” Stiger began scanning more of the groups of enemy along the wall, the reserves too, looking closer. He saw more ladders. “I think you might just be right.”

“Interesting.” Therik ran a thumb down his left tusk with a finger. “They are going to go all out on the first attempt.”

“So,” Stiger said, “if that’s the case, do we wait longer before going forward, allow them to engage more of their forces actively in the fight?”

“There is some merit in such an argument,” Therik said. “Wait for them to commit even more, to expend and fatigue themselves, and then hit them hard. I like that. But what if they call it off after this first wave and start heading back to their camp? Say they call it a day?”

“As in the garrison is too tough a nut to crack?” Stiger asked.

Therik gave a nod.

Stiger rubbed his jaw as he considered that argument and the situation. As he thought on it some, he watched in silence as the enemy threw up even more ladders onto the walls, their losses mounting with each passing moment. Stiger estimated that the enemy had already suffered hundreds of casualties, evidenced by the steady stream of injured retreating to their camp, likely in search of medical aid.

Should he go now or delay some more? That was the question.

“Are you certain you wish to wait?” Eli inquired.

“I want those assaulting the walls to continue exhausting themselves in the effort, but now I am thinking about holding off even longer.” Stiger glanced back at his friend. “Why do you ask? Do you see something I don’t?”

“I’m not sure waiting is an option anymore.” Eli pointed. “Your hand, as they say, has been forced.”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Stiger’s stomach as he followed Eli’s gesture, looking off to his right flank. There, a throng of small figures had emerged from the forest in a great mass and was even now advancing toward the enemy. When he turned to the left, the scene was strikingly similar. Thousands of gnomes, clad in myriads of colorful armor, were steadily pouring out of the forest and into the open, forging ahead across the snow-covered and frozen fields.

Stiger clenched his fists in anger as it rose up within his breast, threatening to burst free. “When I get my hands on that little bastard, I’m going to wring his bloody neck.”

“It does seem as if the gnomes have decided to do whatever they like. My dear Ben, it’s almost as if you forgot they are gnomes in the first place.” Eli shifted his weight from one foot to the other foot, barely suppressing his amusement.

“You think so?” Stiger growled. He was so angry that his hands began to shake.

“You might want to give the order for the rest of the army to move forward,” Eli suggested helpfully, his eyes gleaming with amusement at the unexpected development. “Before it’s too late, that is. No rush, though, as I’m sure you’ve noticed they have short legs.”

“And don’t forget the distraction,” Therik chimed in.

“Children of chaos,” Stiger muttered under his breath, shaking his head. His frustration swelled; it was too late to call them back, and even if he attempted to try, he knew without a doubt they would refuse to listen. The decision had been taken out of his hands. “Children of chaos. That is what I am saddled with. So be it. The die has been cast.” Stiger let go a heavy breath and bowed his head, closing his eyes and pushing the anger away as he reached out to his connection with his god. He felt it grow warm. “High Father, lend us strength this day. Help see us to victory and spare as many of our boys as possible. I commend my soul into your loving embrace and keeping. On this I pray.”

Opening his eyes, Stiger let go of the connection. The anger returned, and with a determined expression, he unsheathed his sword. The weapon immediately blazed with a fiery intensity that matched his rage at Cragg.

“Stovan,” Stiger called as he stepped out of the tree line and onto the snowy field, walking forward several paces. “Now would be a good time. Our army is about to step off.”

We are on our way.

Stiger pointed his flaming sword toward the enemy’s camp. This was meant to have been the signal for the entire army to advance. The lines behind him—comprising elves, Vass, and the legionary contingent, including Wast’s twenty-five hundred legionary gnomes—began to move forward. Together, they emerged from the forest, stepping into the open field toward battle.

Stiger stood patiently as the seemingly endless rows of Wast’s legionaries marched past him. Each gnome was draped in a pristine white cloak and carried a small short sword, with a miniature legionary shield strapped to their back. The shield was emblazoned with a bull emblem.

Most carried a tightly tied bundle of sticks, while others, in teams, hauled scaling ladders forward. They moved in unison, exuding an air of discipline and organization that would make any proper soldier proud, Stiger amongst them.

Even though they barely came up beyond the tops of his knees, Stiger couldn’t help but remind himself of their ferocity in battle, having witnessed their savage fighting skills firsthand at the palace, along with their discipline.

Behind the ranks came Wast and the Eagle-bearer, the legion’s signifier. A scowl formed on Stiger’s face as he noticed the Eagle itself mounted on a shortened pole. He’d not seen the standard before today. Heck, he hadn’t even known they had their own Eagle. The Eagle’s perch was a block of gold-painted wood, on which was inscribed the numeral IX.

Could it be possible?

Taha’Leeth, Davin, Therik, and Eli joined him, drawing his attention away from the emblem. Dog was there too, padding along with Ruga and his men, who had positioned themselves behind the group. Amongst the legionaries, Ikely walked at Ruga’s side, clearly intent on going into battle with the rest of them. Stiger did not complain, for Ikely was a soldier and today they’d need every sword.

Still feeling the frustration of the moment, Stiger shot an unhappy glance at Taha’Leeth, his anger boiling to the point of seething fury. “Can you believe he did this to me?”

“It is what it is, husband,” Taha’Leeth said calmly. “You might as well accept it and work with the dice you have thrown.”

Sheathing his sword, Stiger forced his rage down. He made a personal promise to deal with Cragg later, and he would ensure nothing like this ever happened again. The army had continued marching forward after the mass of Cragg’s gnomes, who had a slight head start. Not trusting himself to speak any more, for he was biting mad, Stiger started forward, like the army, beginning the long march across the fields.

Off to the right, there was a low, distant, rumbling thunder. Beyond the gnomes, the cavalry were beginning to make their ride across the fields in a thick column, slowly picking up momentum as they went.

Stiger understood it was only a matter of time now until his army was spotted and the enemy reacted to the threat he represented. There was no avoiding it, but he could delay it, and that was what the dragons were for.

As if on cue, a primal roar tore through the air, the sheer force and volume causing the entire advance to momentarily falter, Stiger included. It seemed as though even the ongoing assault upon the garrison paused in response. Stiger could imagine every head turning skyward.

To the south, emerging from the clouds, four dragons—two azure and two crimson—dove into view. They flew in a line abreast formation, diving toward the ground at incredible speed before pulling up and, wings extended, gracefully skimming over the fields and the enemy’s camp.

A second thunderous roar echoed from one of the dragons, along with a gout of flame that shot up into the air, as they continued their flight at a perilously low altitude. Their awe-inspiring presence exuded an aura of unparalleled power, might, and invincibility. Stiger could vividly imagine the shock and disbelief the dragons must have instilled as they swooped by mere yards above the heads of the enemy.

Then, in perfect unison, the dragons angled their wings and executed a sweeping turn, circling around the far side of the hill upon which the fortress sat, flying just over the enemy’s siege works. They continued their synchronized flight toward the other side of the hill before eventually vanishing from sight.

“I am guessing more than a few will be needing a change in undergarments about now,” Eli remarked.

“That’s if they’re wearing any to begin with,” Ruga said from just behind them. Stiger glanced back at the centurion, who gave a shrug. “They are barbarians after all.”

“Say, Ruga,” Eli said, looking back at the centurion, “do you wear undergarments?”

“Not if I don’t have to,” came the reply from the centurion. “Some legionaries do, a loincloth or something like it. I’m more of the free-swinging kind of guy. It allows the family jewels to breathe a little, if you take my meaning.”

“And what happens if your tunic flies up?” Eli asked, aghast but at the same time showing horrified fascination. “Say there’s a strong gust of wind, or you trip and fall over, or you are going up a ladder and the man below looks up, or something else happens? You will expose yourself to everyone! That would be shocking, truly shocking if that little package of yours flies out.”

“It won’t be the first time,” Ruga said with a harsh laugh. “I guess you could say it’s no sweat off my balls.”

Taha’Leeth looked around at the centurion with a stern expression as they continued to walk forward across the field.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Ruga said, suddenly contrite. “I didn’t mean to offend none.”

“Oh, I am not offended, Centurion. I have heard much worse in my time.” Taha’Leeth glanced at Stiger. “However, you are in the presence of the emperor. I would have expected a little more decorum, especially from the head of the emperor’s bodyguard.”

“I’m not sure what that word means, ma’am,” Ruga said with a straight face. “I’m just a simple valley centurion.”

Stiger well knew that Ruga was more than that, but he said nothing. There were more important things for him to concern himself with than idle talk.

“Let me explain it to you then, valley boy,” Eli said helpfully and began doing so. “Decorum means … ”

Putting the banter from his mind, Stiger pressed on with his army. Remarkably, the gnomes encountered little difficulty advancing through the frozen, compacted snow, which was likely the result of the previous night’s cold.

After a few moments, the dragons reappeared, gracefully circling around the far right side of the hill. They leisurely turned back around the side of the garrison before heading toward the enemy encampment. Stiger couldn’t help but feel awed by the power, the beautiful ferocity on display.

The dragons served as the perfect distraction, capturing the attention of all who beheld them. The fighting had died down near completely. And since the dragons had first disappeared around the other side of the hill, his army had advanced several hundred yards. They were eating up the ground at a steady pace.

As far as Stiger could discern, the ruse was working as intended; the enemy had yet to notice his army’s approach or raise any alarms. If they had detected them, they had yet to show any sign of reaction. The closer the army advanced, the better their chances of successfully taking the encampment.

Suddenly, a brilliant green bolt of light burst from the ground near the siege works. It rose through the air with astonishing speed, rapidly gaining altitude and closing on the flight of dragons. Before Stiger could even blink, it struck one of the blue dragons in a dazzling flash of brilliance.

An ear-splitting crack echoed across the field just a heartbeat later. The dragon released a tortured cry that was more screech than roar, and Stiger watched in mounting horror as the magnificent creature rolled onto its side and plummeted from the sky.

A heartbeat later, it crashed into the ground, slamming into part of the enemy’s siege works, kicking up an enormous plume of snow and frozen dirt, accompanied by the bodies of the enemy soldiers who had been standing nearby. The dragon’s fall had likely crushed hundreds in an instant, snuffing out lives just as quickly as its own had been.

The remaining three dragons let out deafening roars, which Stiger interpreted as a mix of shock, anger, and rage. Their cries seemed to fracture the very air around them.

A suffocating wave of fear washed over the battlefield. It was oppressive, unexpected, and utterly overwhelming. Stiger found himself, along with those around him, brought to his knees by the crushing force of it, the power. He wanted to cower, to run and find someplace to hide, only his legs would not work.

In a frenzy, the three surviving dragons beat their wings furiously, climbing toward the safety of the clouds in a desperate bid for escape. Another green bolt of light rocketed skyward, aimed directly at one of the red dragons.

With a nimble twist, at the last possible moment, the dragon narrowly evaded the bolt, which flashed by. The dart continued upward, streaking through the clouds overhead and momentarily staining them an eerie shade of green before vanishing.

Under the weight of the overwhelming fear, Stiger struggled to reach for his sword, for he knew that would bring an end to the fear, the torment he felt. But still it was an effort, a titanic one, to move his arm even a little. Gritting his teeth, and only through sheer determination, he managed to grasp the hilt. To his relief, the crushing sensation of fear dissipated immediately, allowing him to take a deep breath and scan his surroundings, to take stock.

He observed that everyone, including Taha’Leeth, was affected—even the Vass and elves were cowering and shuddering in fear of the dragon magic. Only the gnomes seemed to be immune to the effects. It even seemed to spur them onward, for they gave a massed yell and charged forward, transitioning from a walk to a run, despite the daunting distance yet to be covered. Only Wast’s legionaries, carrying their ladders and bundles of sticks, kept up a steady advance, drawing away from the rest of the army, who were paralyzed by the powerful magic.

Another green bolt of light shot skyward as the dragons climbed up and into the clouds. Stiger felt a chill run down his spine as the dart followed closely behind them, then disappeared itself into the cloud cover. A resounding crack echoed through the air, and the oppressive fear immediately fell away, allowing those around him to breathe a sigh of relief and stand upright once more, to regain a measure of themselves.

A blue dragon emerged into view, dropping from out of the clouds, its lifeless wings fluttering as it spiraled slowly down directly toward the enemy’s camp and the ground. Stiger watched in mounting horror, realizing that he had just lost two of his most precious assets. He felt sick to his stomach as he watched the dragon fall.

The massive creature crashed to the ground with a bone-rattling impact and heavy thud, crushing and shattering the encampment wall at that point where it hit. As if from a minor quake, the ground shook violently in reply.

“What is that?” Therik asked, pointing as another green dart shot skyward.

“That,” Davin said quietly, “is from a Masella, and I do not know what it is exactly, the green energy, that is.”

“I thought they were summoners,” Stiger growled, looking over at the man.

“They are summoners and more. Consider them very dangerous, for their powers do not align with your own or mine.” Davin pointed down at Rarokan. “Even the sword would be useless against them, other than being a bladed weapon. You must be on guard when confronting such priests, for even I do not know the full extent of their abilities.”

Listen to him, for he is correct, Rarokan said in his head. Be on guard. Followers of Mastel are extremely dangerous.

Feeling his rage surge, Stiger surveyed the scene around him. The elves and Vass had come to a standstill, still suffering from the aftereffects of the magical fear, their initial shock giving way to horror as they processed the loss of the dragons.

Even his own legionaries, with the exception of Wast’s boys, were frozen in place, seemingly unsure of their next move. Losing two dragons was a significant blow, one he had not anticipated. He mentally berated himself for his lack of foresight. He should have been more cautious with them, especially after learning about the Masella. It had been a serious oversight and one he felt terrible guilt over. Still, hindsight was a bitch, and there was no changing what had happened. He needed to soldier forward.

Undeterred by the loss of the dragons, Cragg’s gnomes continued to charge forward. Their initial yell had given over to a mass humming. Wast’s boys, too, had joined in. Coming from tens of thousands of gnomes, Stiger found the sound a little unnerving.

Glancing around, he realized he needed to take charge and get the rest of the army moving again. The thundering sound of hooves caught his attention. Hux and the cavalry were in motion again, galloping all out toward the gap, followed closely by a pack of wolves, seemingly in pursuit. It was the gnome cavalry.

“Advance!” Stiger bellowed in Elven to the elves. “I said, advance!”

Si’Cara stepped forward, emerging into view. She walked before the ranks of her warriors and drew her sword, a long, slender blade. She swung it in the air over her head before pointing ahead and at the enemy.

“Forward!” Si’Cara called, her voice carrying clearly across the field.

Stiger turned to Jeskix and switched to Common, his grip tightening on his sword grip. “Move your boys, Jeskix! We need to keep pushing forward and get at the enemy!”

Jeskix tore his gaze from the downed dragon and locked eyes with Stiger. The anger and frustration were evident in his expression, for the dragons were allies of the Vass. He did not fully understand their relationship, but they clearly worked together. For all Stiger knew, the dragon had been the Knight’s friend.

“Forward!” Jeskix roared, his rage plain as his voice rang out across the field. The Vass gave an animalistic roar. With that, the elves and Vass sprang into action, once more moving steadily toward the enemy and battle.

Then, a horn sounded from the direction of the enemy. After a few heartbeats, the horn rang out yet again. It was clearly a call to alarm, and a desperate one at that. The person blowing the horn kept it up, blowing for all he was worth.

They had been spotted.

He estimated he was a little more than a mile away from the enemy’s camp. It was a long way to go, but there was open ground before them and nothing in between. The tens of thousands of gnomes, still charging madly ahead, were much, much closer.

“On the quick,” Stiger roared to the legionaries behind him and picked up his pace into a light jog. Ahead, Wast shouted something, and the gnome legion picked up their pace as well, nearly running flat out.

The elves and Vass matched his pace in short order. It would fatigue the army, but there was simply no choice. Even now, in the enemy’s encampment, Stiger could see men rushing along the portion of the wall facing them, preparing themselves to receive his attack. The question in Stiger’s mind … how would the enemy’s reserves react?

The cavalry, moving at speed, was swinging around toward the gap. The hooves now fully thundered across the fields. Behind them, the gnome cavalry moved just as rapidly. Stiger felt his heart beat faster at not only the exertion of running with armor, but the prospect of the coming fight.

He glanced to his side and saw Taha’Leeth take her bow from her back. Her gaze was focused ahead. Stiger looked back front. Where the dragon had crashed into it, part of the wall had been thoroughly shattered, breaching the camp’s defenses.

The corpse of the massive creature lay partly in the camp and outside it, and over the trench. The sight of the dragon caused Stiger’s anger to increase to new levels. He had blundered and it had cost them two dragons.

Sword in hand again—he did not even recall drawing it—he picked up his pace. They had to get to the enemy’s camp and inside before those enemy formations outside and on the siege works could react. In addition to that, he had to find the Masella and kill that dark priest before more damage could be done.

Chapter Thirty

Wast’s legion of gnomes swarmed over the fallen dragon like ants over a rotting carcass. The once-majestic creature’s tail and back formed a serpentine bridge that stretched over the defensive trench and wall, which it had thoroughly crushed and shattered.

Seizing this opportunity, the gnomes had clearly decided to exploit the makeshift bridge to infiltrate and make their way into the enemy’s fortified encampment. To either side of the dragon and farther out along the wall, elves were dropping tightly bound bundles of sticks into the defensive trench at strategic points.

These makeshift bundles would serve as a foundation for additional bridges, allowing the assault teams to safely traverse the trench. Already, four such bridges had been constructed, and several ladder teams had made their way across the trench. Without hesitation, they raised their ladders and hurled them against the encampment’s outer wall.

Amidst the chaos, Stiger had lost track of the Vass, who were undoubtedly somewhere off to the right, embroiled in their own attempt at overcoming the wall. The few human legionaries of Stiger’s headquarters guard, under command of Ikely, had also crossed the trench and quickly raised their own ladders. Even now, several were climbing the precarious rungs toward the enemy who waited above.

A sudden twang drew Stiger’s attention. Taha’Leeth had released an arrow, its deadly flight a hissing whisper set amidst the chaos and noise of the assault. The missile found its mark, slamming into the chest of an enemy with a bow who had been leaning over the wall.

Dropping the bow and coughing up blood, he stiffened, straightened, and fell backward, vanishing from sight, toppling off the other side of the wall.

Tragedy struck mere feet from Stiger, as an arrow hammered into an elven warrior’s neck with a meaty thwack. He had been part of a ladder party about to cross one of the bridges. Releasing the ladder, he fell sideways, like a felled tree, toppling into the trench, where he was impaled upon the spikes that lay waiting at the bottom.

In the midst of the chaos, Stiger caught a glimpse of Eli a few yards away, his body a portrait of focused intensity. His friend raised his bow, pulling the string taut and taking aim with the precision of a master.

For a brief heartbeat, time seemed to slow as he held the tension while tracking his target. Then he released the arrow. The missile flew through the air with purpose, finding its mark in the collar of the enemy who had just felled the unfortunate elf. The man crumpled forward and off the wall, dropping down into a group of elves laboring to raise a scaling ladder.

“Move him out of the way!” one of the elves bellowed, urgency etched into his voice. Another elf heeded the call, breaking away from the group and grabbing the fallen enemy under his armpits. Grunting, he began dragging the wounded tribesman away from the action. The enemy, his strength sapped and likely dazed as well, offered only feeble resistance. The elf dragged the wounded man to the edge of the trench before unceremoniously rolling him in, where the lethal spikes below sealed his fate.

As he watched the action around him, the cacophony of battle enveloped Stiger, a maelstrom of noise, confusion, and shouted commands. Men and elves yelled and cursed at one another, their voices barely audible above the din of clashing steel and the distant cries of the fallen.

Stiger found himself unable to discern the events occurring to either side of the encampment, for they were out of his view. His world and ability to influence events had been reduced to the immediate, chaotic scene before him. There was very little he could do, other than watch, at least for the moment.

Throughout the chaos, dozens of elven archers—mostly rangers—moved with purpose along the base of the wall or on the other side of the trench. With unerring accuracy and aiming skyward at the enemy along the wall, their bows sang as they released their deadly missiles. One by one, defenders fell, picked off by the elves’ deadly shower of arrows.

They were systematically clearing the enemy from the wall, particularly around the areas where ladders had been raised or were being thrown up. Their accuracy was nothing short of awe-inspiring. As a result, the enemy found themselves cowering and seeking shelter behind the palisade and doing their best to keep from exposing themselves.

Amid the chaos, a single elf managed to scramble up a ladder to the top. With effort, he hoisted himself over the top of the wall and onto the defensive platform. Hastily, he drew his sword and prepared to face an enemy who, close at hand, had emerged from cover behind the palisade and charged at him. Caught off balance, the elf couldn’t get his blade up in time to block. He was struck down by a chopping blow in a gruesome spray of blood and gore.

As if in retribution, an arrow shot up from below and pierced the enemy assailant in the side of the head, causing him to collapse. Moments later, a second elven warrior crested the wall at the same spot and drew his sword, followed closely by a third and fourth, their swords coming rapidly to hand.

A group of enemy warriors sprang from their cover, where they had been sheltering against the storm of arrows, and charged the elves, initiating a desperate struggle atop the wall, each side vying for dominance to become king of the hill.

A few yards to the right, another ladder saw success as an elven warrior skillfully climbed over the lip of the wall. With his sword drawn, he was immediately confronted by two adversaries. The elf moved like a bolt of lightning, his swift and deadly strikes and counterstrikes almost impossible to follow as he battled for not only control of his portion of the wall, but also his life.

In a whirlwind of ferocity, he dispatched first one opponent and then the next. As the first elf continued his deadly dance, a second and third elf joined him atop the wall and joined in on the fight.

Stiger felt a fierce sense of satisfaction as he mentally cheered them on. They were taking the wall, and with each passing moment, more and more elven warriors were climbing the ladders and joining the fray atop the fighting platform.

Stiger’s gaze drifted to the right, coming to rest on the fallen dragon. A wave of sadness and regret washed over him as he mourned the loss of the majestic creature. Wast’s legionaries, clad in their diminutive legionary armor, continued to clamber up and over the dragon’s lifeless and broken form. His gnomes, all humming in unison, surged forward and into the enemy’s encampment like a relentless and unending tide.

Wast, himself accompanied by the legionary standard-bearer, had ascended the dragon and now stood atop its back. From his elevated position, he bellowed orders in his native tongue, expertly directing his troops on where he wanted them.

Something caught the legate’s attention. With a bold leap, Wast jumped down onto the wall’s shattered defensive platform, his sword at the ready. Glancing back at several legionary gnomes still atop the dragon, he gestured down the battered wall toward a group of enemy fighters engaged in combat with two beleaguered elves and then clearly snapped an order that Stiger could not hear.

Six gnome legionaries broke off from the rest and sprang into action, leaping from the dragon’s carcass and onto the wall’s fighting platform. They went charging toward the indicated enemy warriors.

All Stiger could see of the advancing gnomes as they passed by the shattered portion of the wall were the tops of their helmets, which barely peeked over the lip of the palisade, as they sprinted down the fighting platform, rapidly closing the distance. Upon reaching the enemy, the gnomes surged past the two elves, cutting down one foe after another, each one abruptly dropping out of sight in what was clearly a whirlwind of destruction.

Stiger turned away, moving along the edge of the trench to the left, surveying the unfolding battle as he walked. Another bowstring twanged, drawing his attention. Whether the shot came from Eli or Taha’Leeth, Stiger could not be certain. Both elves, along with the others, were unleashing arrows, each shot finding its mark and felling an enemy whenever one made himself visible.

An audible thunk resonated nearby. Stiger hadn’t noticed earlier, but Ruga and his legionary guards were positioned just in front of him, their shields raised in an effort to protect him. An enemy arrow had lodged itself in one of the guard’s shields.

Stiger scanned the wall for the enemy responsible for the shot but couldn’t locate him. He wondered if the arrow had been fired from within the encampment as indirect fire.

One thing was clear from the action before him, however: More and more elves were successfully scaling the wall, steadily tipping the balance of the battle in their favor. Though Stiger was uncertain about the progress elsewhere, it was evident that his assault was succeeding in wresting control of the wall from the enemy.

Glancing to his left at the nearest bridge spanning the trench, Stiger decided it was time to cross over himself. Having sheathed his sword earlier, he needed a better vantage point—one that would allow him to assess the overall state of the battle, or as much of it as he could see. To do that, he needed to be on the wall.

Ruga and his escort dutifully followed him. Meanwhile, Eli and Taha’Leeth continued their deadly work with their bows a short distance off. Stiger hesitated as he prepared to cross the trench, reluctant to leave his wife behind.

“You go,” Taha’Leeth called out to him a few yards away, having caught his look. “Do your job, and I will do mine.”

Still, Stiger found himself hesitating.

“Do not overthink things, husband,” Taha’Leeth called, then turned and, spotting an enemy running along the wall, aimed as she pulled back on the bowstring, creating tension. A heartbeat later, she released. The missile flew true, striking her mark in the shoulder. The force of the strike caused him to stagger and stumble before falling out of sight.

Though Stiger was unhappy about the situation, when she looked back at him and arched an eyebrow, he conceded inevitable defeat and nodded in agreement. He moved toward the head of the line of elves waiting to cross the bridge. As he stepped onto the bridge made of bundled sticks, a few elves shot him questioning glances, but none attempted to stop him.

Carefully, he made his way across the bundles, which shifted and cracked beneath his boots. It was a little tricky, but nothing he could not manage, and before he knew it, he had crossed the trench and was at a ladder, waiting for his turn to ascend.

Bodies lay strewn thickly around the ladder, a testament to the brutality of the early fighting to gain purchase on the wall—mostly elves, with a few still alive, groaning or crying out for help. With no one available to assist them, they would have to wait until the battle’s conclusion. It was a pitiful and heart-wrenching sight, exposing yet another harsh and ugly facet of war.

Pushing the sight of the injured from his mind, when it came his turn, Stiger gripped the rough-hewn rungs and climbed as quickly as he could. The ascent required considerable effort while wearing armor. Upon reaching the top, he found no one there to help him over the lip of the palisade, so he pulled himself up and over the wall onto the defensive fighting platform, his hobnailed boots clunking down onto the wooden boards. Stiger moved aside to allow Ruga’s men, his personal guard, to follow.

Scanning his surroundings, Stiger spotted Therik farther down the wall to the left. How the orc had gotten up before Stiger was a mystery. Therik’s sword was drawn, and he was engaged in combat against three enemies who had climbed a set of stairs to challenge him.

Therik’s blade slashed viciously down, cleaving directly into the side of a warrior’s neck, causing a cascade of blood to erupt forth. Even as the man collapsed and tumbled down the stairs, the orc grabbed another with his free hand, lifting him into the air by the neck. The struggling warrior’s legs kicked wildly as he choked, then Therik hurled him from the wall.

The remaining enemy backed up, retreating down the steps as the enraged orc bared his tusks and pointed at him with his sword. The message was unmistakable. The man didn’t even hesitate. He turned and ran. Therik started down the steps, pursuing his quarry with unyielding determination.

Shifting his focus, Stiger surveyed the interior of the encampment. A sea of tents spread out before him, and the entire wall on this side of the enemy camp was steadily succumbing to his assault. Elves had even begun to climb down off the wall at points, engaging the enemy inside the encampment and pushing deeper amongst the sea of tents. Locked in a chaotic and confusing melee with the enemy, hundreds of Wast’s gnomes fought alongside them.

Two rangers to his left clambered up onto the wall. Kneeling, they laid their arrows by their feet and began loosing missiles into the camp, felling one enemy after another with a methodical efficiency that could only be admired.

“What now, sir?” Ruga asked, approaching Stiger and holding his shield out protectively in case they were fired upon.

“I need to see what’s going on outside the fort, particularly in the gap.” Stiger gestured eastward, toward the opposite wall on the far side of the encampment. He began moving along the fighting platform, carefully stepping over the fallen as he headed to the left, toward the north wall.

“Stay close to the emperor,” Ruga shouted at his men, several of whom were still climbing the ladder and pulling themselves onto the wall.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiger noticed a burly enemy warrior twenty yards away, down in the camp amidst the tents. Clad in a thick gray cloak and a gold torc around his neck, with a chainmail shirt for protection, the imposing figure wielded a large sword, using it to direct his warriors battling the elves and gnomes before him.

Stiger recognized the man as an important leader, someone whose elimination would be a blow to the enemy’s morale and efforts at a coordinated defense. He needed to go, and the sooner the better.

As Stiger passed the second of the kneeling rangers on the fighting platform, he stopped and tapped the elf’s shoulder to get his attention. He pointed at the warrior below.

“Take him down.”

The ranger nodded, calmly nocked an arrow, aimed for a heartbeat, and loosed. Stiger heard the sharp crack as the arrow pierced the chainmail shirt and embedded itself deep in the man’s lower chest. Staggering under the power of the blow and clutching the missile protruding from his torso, the enemy leader took several steps backward before collapsing to his knees. A moment later, he fell onto his side, legs twitching out his last.

“Nice work.” Stiger patted the elf on the shoulder. Without waiting for a response, he continued onward. Stiger’s knowledge of the events unfolding around the camp and in the gap remained limited. The only way he’d find out was to see for himself, so he pressed onward, making his way down the fighting platform. Reaching the end of the wall, where it turned at a right angle, he looked out and down the length of the fortifications on the north side of the enemy’s camp.

Ahead, toward the gap, Cragg’s gnomes had reached some of the siege works. In a great mass, they not only surged toward the gap, but also spread outward, engulfing the enemy formations there like a relentless wave of fury.

The fighting was brutal, fierce, and gruesome. Stiger watched for a moment as men and gnomes alike fell in the deadly scrum. Still, it was evident that Cragg’s gnomes were steadily overpowering the initial bands of the enemy they had encountered, forcing them to give ground as they pushed ever forward.

Farther to the north, thick formations of the enemy, each containing several hundred warriors, had moved from the siege works and were maneuvering to strike from the flank. A contingent of several thousand gnomes had split off and positioned themselves to confront these formations, clearly preparing for the impending clash.

Several gnomes in front of the formation barked orders, which Stiger couldn’t hear over the fighting, and gestured wildly, one even slapping a comrade who wasn’t moving fast enough as the gnomes formed themselves into a semblance of ranks. Stiger deduced that these gnomes were officers, attempting to direct their troops in a scene reminiscent of herding unruly cats.

Shifting his gaze to the garrison, Stiger observed that the forces assaulting the fortress’s walls had pulled back, abandoning their attempts to breach the garrison’s defenses. They were now streaming back toward the siege works, many of them reinforcing their comrades under attack by the gnomes near the gap, which was farther down the wall and on the other side of the camp.

From the fortress’s walls, Stiger saw hundreds of men observing the tumultuous battle below, undoubtedly shocked by the unexpected turn of events. As he surveyed the scene, elves hurried past him, pounding their way down the fighting platform, heading farther up the wall in the direction of the gap.

He glimpsed ongoing combat at the far end along the defensive platform. Inside the encampment, the struggle was growing fierce and brutal, but it seemed to be progressing in their favor, at least for the moment.

Moving westward along the wall toward the gap, Stiger trailed after the elves, eager to assess the state of the fighting there. He had barely advanced thirty yards when several enemy warriors charged up a staircase, screaming ferociously as they attacked him.

Drawing his sword, Stiger parried the initial strike. The two blades clashed, making a clanging sound as they met again. The force of the impact jarred Stiger’s hand, for his opponent was heavily muscled and strong. He quickly retreated as his enemy lunged at him again. Their swords met a third time, and Ruga appeared at Stiger’s side, blocking the assailant’s companion with his shield before he could land a blow on Stiger.

Roaring like a wild man, and baring his teeth in a feral grin, Ruga thrust forward with his shield, bashing it into his opponent’s chest and sending him sprawling into another man, who lost his balance and tumbled off the wall into the ground below.

Stiger stabbed his sword into the thigh of the man he faced, feeling the weapon grow hot in his hand as the enemy crumpled to the ground, lifeless. He stepped over the fallen warrior to confront the next opponent, while Ruga blocked another sword strike on his shield from a fourth assailant. Out of his peripheral vision, Stiger saw splinters and wood chips fly from Ruga’s shield. His own sword began to glow again, causing his adversary to hesitate, his eyes suddenly fixated on the fearsome weapon and its magical fire.

Seizing the opportunity, Stiger lunged forward, knocking the man’s sword away before stabbing him in the stomach. The enemy stiffened as the blade penetrated his gullet. The man’s eyes met Stiger’s, filled with disbelief and the dawning realization of his impending doom.

With a brutal twist, Stiger wrenched his sword free, causing the man to grunt and gag in pain. Intestines spilled out and onto the wooden platform at Stiger’s feet and a warm spray of blood showered his forearms. He roughly shoved the dying warrior off his blade, sending him tumbling down the steps and to his death, whether that be soon or prolonged with suffering.

A sudden, sharp pain in his calf captured Stiger’s immediate attention. A gravely wounded man he’d not noticed, his thigh sliced open to the bone, had struck at him with a dagger. Before Stiger could react, Ruga’s men intervened, with one stamping down on the man’s blade arm while another swiftly plunged his short sword into the man’s throat, causing a gush of thick, oily blood to erupt and fountain forth.

A heartbeat later, Ruga dispatched the last man standing, who crumpled. The centurion looked around and assessed the situation, searching for additional threats. After a moment, his eyes fell on Stiger’s injury, which was bleeding slightly.

“Are you all right, sir?” Ruga inquired.

Glancing down, Stiger determined that the wound was superficial, despite the blood flow, which wasn’t that bad. “I’m fine. It’s more of a bad scratch than anything else.”

“Bloody barbarians,” Ruga grumbled. He then cast his eyes upon one of the enemy corpses, narrowing them in suspicion. “Sir, look at that.”

Stiger followed Ruga’s gaze but couldn’t discern what the centurion was pointing out. Ruga gestured with his bloodied sword toward the neck of the first man Stiger had slain, and he finally noticed a bronze collar peeking out from beneath the tunic.

“A slave soldier,” Ruga concluded.

Exhaling a troubled breath, Stiger surveyed the camp. It was true. The confederacy’s influence had indeed reached the tribes. It was as he’d thought. Men like this one had likely provided the expertise needed to guide the tribes of the Barrens, a nomadic people, in constructing the siege works and this very encampment, along with building the artillery with which they had bombarded the garrison’s walls. It was yet one more sign Stiger’s true enemy had planned long and hard for the destruction of the empire. Stiger turned to continue down the wall toward the gap but found Ruga blocking his path.

“You men,” Ruga commanded, pointing at the nearest legionaries with his sword, “go ahead of the emperor. Anyone who comes against us, you murder with extreme hate.”

The soldiers nodded and moved forward, making their way down the fighting platform of the wall, prepared to fiercely protect their leader as the battle raged on around them.

“Safety before beauty, sir,” Ruga said, by way of explanation. “Of course, I’m the beauty.”

“And what does that make me?” Stiger inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“The emperor, sir.” Ruga grinned, then sobered as his gaze went to the wound on Stiger’s leg. “Seriously, sir, you are emperor now and make the big decisions. You need to start letting Uncle Ruga and his dumb grunts here do the fighting.”

Stiger glanced down at his leg again, which was still bleeding. There was truth to the centurion’s words, but how could he let others do the fighting and dying for him? It just didn’t seem right, and yet he was now emperor and had larger concerns. The stakes were greater than when he’d been a simple infantry captain leading a company and fighting in the line to set the example. The empire was in the balance, and he was the High Father’s Champion.

Looking up, he gave a nod to Ruga. “It’s something to think on. I’ll consider it.”

“With all due respect, don’t think on it too hard, sir,” Ruga said. “If something happens to you, your wife will skin me alive.”

“I doubt she’d do that,” Stiger said.

“I don’t. She scares the piss out of me. Not much else does, and since I’ve been with you, I’ve seen things that will make a grown man shit his pants, sir.”

“Is that why you don’t wear undergarments?” Stiger asked, suddenly grinning at the centurion.

“Don’t you know it, sir.” Ruga grinned back at him.

A shout to their right in the camp drew his attention. Stiger surveyed the camp below. The remainder of the legionary guard contingent had descended from the wall and were now engaging what looked to be a fragmented and chaotic enemy defense of the interior of the camp.

He spotted Ikely leading the men, bellowing orders as he directed their efforts to push forward. Dog, a short distance away, prowled among the tents, his muzzle and fur stained with blood.

Davin and the rest of Ruga’s men trailed behind Stiger. He had no idea of Therik or Eli’s whereabouts, nor Taha’Leeth’s. He assumed Eli and Taha’Leeth had entered the camp once the wall had fallen, but they were nowhere in sight.

However, Stiger couldn’t afford to worry about them; he had a job to do. A collective shout from the direction of the gap captured his attention. He ventured forward, moving farther down the wall, heading westward toward the gap.

Ahead, the defensive platform was littered with lifeless bodies, evidence of the elves’ work. The legionaries moving before Stiger made sure to jab at each fallen enemy, confirming their demise before continuing on.

To his right, the camp’s interior was a whirlwind of chaos, with gnomes, Vass, and elves battling a disorganized enemy. Several tents were already engulfed in flames. Stiger even spotted some of the enemy fleeing the conflict, sprinting toward the western gate and what they thought was escape. A powerful sense of satisfaction washed over him as he took in the scene. They were taking the camp, and it was only a matter of time now until it was theirs.

His eyes caught on a massive Vass wielding an impossibly large sword, cutting down a fleeing enemy from behind. A few yards to the right, more than a dozen blood-drenched gnomes swarmed a defender, their small swords slashing and stabbing at the man’s legs until he crumpled to his knees. One of the gnomes drove his blade deep into the enemy’s chest, stabbing at the heart.

The warrior fell back, lifeless. The blood-spattered gnomes shrieked in triumph over their kill before scattering, each seeming to go in a different direction, in search of their next opponent.

As Stiger reached the end of the northern wall, where it joined with the western side of the encampment, he found himself overlooking the gap between the enemy’s siege works and the encampment itself. Hux’s cavalry and the gnomes mounted on wolves were present, as well as countless enemy soldiers who had emerged from the siege works to come back and fight. Intermingled with them were large numbers of Cragg’s infantry.

The scene was truly a chaotic maelstrom of violence and death, unlike anything Stiger had ever witnessed. There was no cohesion or organized lines anywhere. Friend and foe were almost completely mixed together, fighting individually or in groups both large and small.

He spotted an enemy formation on the far right, having evidently descended from the siege works with the intent of flanking the battle. They had intentionally swung wide and come around. A burly warrior clad in furs stepped forward, bellowing an indistinct command to his comrades. With a roar, the entire group surged into the fray. Stiger could only watch, powerless to intervene as the enemy plowed into and through a large group of gnomes.

Surveying the larger battlefield, he noticed more enemy formations advancing from the same direction, along with small groups of warriors continuously streaming in to join the struggle. He surmised the latter might have been part of the assault forces, but he couldn’t be certain.

Although his army was gradually gaining control of the camp, Stiger sensed they would soon lose the upper hand in the gap, if the situation didn’t change. But Stiger did not see how he could do that, since there was no organization to work with, no formations to take direct command and maneuver about.

On the north side of the enemy camp, intense clashes raged between the enemy’s warriors and the gnomes. From his current position, Stiger could not see the southern side of the battle, but assumed it was a similar scene.

His gaze returned to the encampment, scrutinizing the ongoing conflict for several tense moments. They had already captured half of the camp and were steadily progressing toward securing the remainder. Amidst the chaos, he spotted Si’Cara, her sword and armor flashing as she expertly fought the enemy right alongside her warriors.

For a brief instant, Stiger found himself transfixed by the warden’s breathtaking grace and prowess in battle. She appeared like a fearsome goddess of death, effortlessly dispatching one adversary after another who dared confront her. With the warden were dozens of elven warriors, who fought valiantly, grappling with enemies, most of whom refused to submit easily.

Stiger longed for the support of a cohort or two, a formidable force that could help turn the tide in the gap and bring some organization to the chaos that raged below. But he had none at his disposal. The nearest cohorts were within the garrison, for the moment, far out of his reach.

Throughout the raging battle, the gnomes maintained their unnerving humming, a haunting sound that sent shivers down the spine. Refocusing on the swirling conflict in the gap, Stiger spotted Hux, his sword rising and falling in a deadly rhythm as he maneuvered his horse about, striking repeatedly at the enemy all around him. Stiger’s heart skipped a beat when hands grabbed Hux from behind, yanking him from his saddle and dragging him to the ground amongst the enemy infantry.

A group of a dozen troopers charged forward, crashing into the enemy surrounding Hux in a determined effort to rescue their beleaguered prefect. Their swords sliced, pierced, and cleaved through the opposition. One trooper even trampled an enemy warrior beneath his horse’s hooves.

Stiger caught a glimpse of Hux back on his feet, his left arm drenched in blood but gripping a sword and stabbing an enemy warrior in the back, bringing the man down. Relief washed over him at the sight of the prefect, alive but battered.

“The fight in the gap isn’t going well, sir,” Ruga observed. “There are just too many of them, and they have a constant flow of reinforcements.” The centurion gestured with his sword to emphasize his point. “The gnomes are putting up a hell of a fight, but they are paying for it.”

Stiger could only nod in agreement. Although the outcome of the fighting on either side remained uncertain, it was becoming increasingly evident that the enemy would soon dominate the gap.

Stiger turned his gaze back to the camp to see how the fight there was progressing. He surveyed the ongoing struggle and noticed that more tents were now ablaze. It appeared that nearly half the camp was engulfed in flames, with thick plumes of smoke billowing skyward.

The tide of battle had shifted significantly. The enemy was starting to crumble, with increasing numbers fleeing toward the gate in a desperate attempt to escape. Those who remained were being forcefully driven back, one grudging step at a time. Soon, the entire camp would be under Stiger’s control.

Once they secured it, the gnomes, Vass, and elves inside could move out into the gap and bolster the ranks of those already heavily engaged. Stiger considered that the elves and Wast’s gnomes might be able to reform into coherent formations with organized ranks. That alone might be enough to change the course of the battle, but regardless of what ultimately happened, casualties would be high, as the enemy were proving to be quite tenacious.

As Stiger’s gaze returned to the gap, he noticed his cavalry, now greatly diminished in number, beginning to disengage from the relentless onslaught of enemy reinforcements. Horse soldiers could not linger long amongst masses of infantry. It was a recipe for disaster. The longer they loitered, the more casualties they’d take. Hux, mounted on a new steed, shouting and waving his sword, worked to rally and extricate his remaining horse soldiers.

The gnomes fought with wild, reckless abandon. They were savaging the enemy, but at the same time, Stiger saw they were taking heavy casualties too. He estimated hundreds of gnomes had already fallen, their broken bodies lying scattered across the battlefield. At the same time, they were making the enemy pay a steep price.

A sudden flash of green light to Stiger’s left, accompanied by a heavy thud and a resounding crash, drew his attention. A few hundred yards away, he saw a robed figure with a long beard, wielding a staff and striding purposefully across the battlefield directly toward the gap, where the bulk of the fighting was taking place.

The old man’s wild, untamed appearance seemed almost otherworldly. There was something about him that rubbed Stiger the wrong way, that made him feel deeply uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach. Stiger loathed him.

Not only did the enemy give the old man a wide berth, but the nearest gnomes had begun to fall back as well. He raised his staff, and a green bolt lanced out and struck a group of gnomes, felling them instantly.

“Masella?” Stiger inquired, turning to Davin.

“Yes,” Davin confirmed, his eyes fixed on the old man. “That there is the enemy, a blight upon the face of this world, my purpose for accompanying you.”

“Can you use the twisted yet?” Stiger asked, noting the overcast sky.

“No,” Davin replied. “There’s not enough shadow. But I can do something else.”

Before Stiger could respond, Davin gripped the palisade and leapt, vaulting effortlessly over the defensive trench below. On impact, thunder cracked loudly in the open space, pouring a shockwave through the ground that Stiger could feel reverberating through his boots.

A barbarian warrior with a wild beard and wearing animal pelts stood below. He wielded a war axe in one hand and an enormous sword in the other, with a collection of human skulls dangling from his belt. Stiger realized in an instant that the man below them was no longer Davin. He’d transformed into Lutha, the god’s presence radiating powerfully outward in waves of pure might.

The overwhelming force and presence of the god’s mind bore down upon Stiger and those nearest, who instinctively recoiled from the divine entity standing amongst them.

Even the Masella seemed taken aback as Lutha began advancing toward him. Each step the god took appeared to shake the ground beneath their feet. Armed with his battle axe and sword, Lutha continued his steadfast march upon his enemy.

The aged summoner thrust his staff forward, unleashing a green bolt, which shot directly at Lutha. The god swiftly raised his sword, deflecting the energy bolt, batting it away. The stray green dart slammed into a group of gnomes who, like most everyone else, was watching the confrontation. It violently tore them apart.

Lutha was then almost face-to-face with the conjurer, who extended a hand toward the approaching deity. Thick, oily smoke billowed forth, seeming to possess a life of its own. Stiger watched in horrified fascination as something began to slowly take shape between the two powerful beings. It was not of this world, but something alien. That much was clear. Stiger felt a terrible revulsion and the surge in power as the old man called something forth.

Lutha slashed down with his sword into the smoke, dissipating it instantly. The form that had been coalescing vanished, along with the smoke. He closed in on the priest, lunging forward and thrusting with his sword.

A blue barrier of light flared into existence, completely surrounding the conjurer, stopping Lutha’s blade in its tracks. Sparks and flaring light erupted from the point of impact. Undeterred, Lutha swung again, delivering a more powerful blow with almost the same result. The barrier flared, and the old man faltered slightly before recovering.

The priest jabbed his staff at Lutha, attempting to strike a blow against the god. The staff emerged from the sphere and Lutha seemed to have anticipated the move. With astonishing reflexes, he swung his battle axe so fast it became a blur. The axe connected with the staff, shattering it with an audible crunch.

The sphere vanished, and as it did, Lutha barked out a harsh, merciless laugh. With no barrier to protect the conjurer, the god jabbed out, his sword piercing the old man’s abdomen. Blood stained his robes as Lutha raised his sword arm, lifting the old man into the air, legs dangling helplessly.

The god released a primal cry of satisfaction. It was followed by a blinding, brilliant flash of light that forced Stiger to look away. When the light faded, he turned back to see the conjurer lifeless on the ground amidst an expanding pool of blood and Davin lying on his side next to him. There was no sign of Lutha.

After a moment of stunned silence, Davin rolled onto his back, sat up, looked around, then struggled to his feet. The nearest enemies recoiled from the unarmed man as he stood shakily, seemingly disoriented. An audible groan ran through the nearest of the enemy. It was apparent that the fallen Masella had been held in high esteem among them, perhaps even worshipped.

The fighting in the gap had ceased, as all combatants, including the gnomes, stood transfixed by the struggle between Lutha and the Masella. However, beyond the gap and out of sight, the conflict raged on around the edges of the enemy’s encampment. As if breaking a spell, a gnome in black armor—Stiger thought it likely Cragg—screeched a war cry and lunged forward, striking at an unsuspecting enemy warrior’s leg with his sword, the blade stabbing deep into the thigh. With that, the battle almost instantly resumed and with renewed intensity, particularly on the side of the gnomes.

A resounding thump jolted Stiger’s focus, drawing his gaze away from the ongoing battle and back toward the encampment. Swiveling around, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a vivid green dart as it sped past a line of tents, hurtling into a formation of elven warriors. The deafening boom that followed was accompanied by a geyser of dirt, debris, and body parts rocketing skyward. The ground trembled beneath him, and elven fighters on either side of the explosion were forcefully flung to the ground.

Tracing the dart’s trajectory, Stiger’s eyes fell upon another Masella, no more than twenty yards away. This one appeared younger, taller, heartier, his brown beard wild and untamed. He was garbed similarly to the elder conjurer and brandished a twisted and gnarled staff.

Stiger’s attention was momentarily captured by the sudden appearance of a shimmering blue sphere enveloping the conjurer. An arrow collided with the protective barrier a heartbeat later, shattering harmlessly into fragments with a sharp, resonating crack. The man’s head swiveled, scanning for the source of the missile attack.

Stiger’s heart skipped a beat, then plummeted into the cold depths of dread. Kneeling beside a blazing tent, Taha’Leeth was a mere ten yards from the menacing conjurer. She released another arrow, only to witness it suffer the same fate as the first, disintegrating upon impact. Lowering her bow, she locked eyes with the conjurer, her expression grave, revealing her realization of the dire situation she found herself in. With no escape in sight, she seemed resigned for the inevitable.

The man thrust his staff forward, unleashing a searing dart of green fire aimed straight at Stiger’s beloved. Desperate to save her, Stiger shouted a warning, but it was too late. She dropped her bow and rolled to the side, narrowly evading the deadly projectile. The dart struck a wagon thirty yards behind her, which erupted into a raging inferno.

Stiger took a step forward.

Don’t be a fool, Rarokan hissed. That is a Masella!

Fueled by adrenaline and determination, Stiger was not about to let the conjurer kill his wife. He leaped from the defensive platform to the encampment below, landing heavily, his knees taking the impact. Unscathed, he charged toward the enemy with a relentless fury. As he sprinted, the Masella unleashed another bolt of emerald energy in Taha’Leeth’s direction. With the tents in the way, Stiger had lost sight of his wife. He prayed fervently for her safety as his chest swelled with a seething rage, causing his sword to burst into brilliant azure flames, which crackled and hissed as they lapped hungrily at the air.

Sensing the approaching danger, the conjurer pivoted to face Stiger, their eyes meeting just as he skidded to a stop. The only thing between them was the pulsating sphere of light. The man’s eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of the blazing sword gripped firmly in Stiger’s hand, then his eyes narrowed.

Determined to pierce the barrier of energy, Stiger thrust his sword out with every ounce of his strength, the tip of the blade colliding with the energy sphere in a cacophony of hissing and cracking. To his astonishment, the sword was wrenched from his grasp and drawn into the sphere, falling to the ground at the conjurer’s feet, its flames thoroughly extinguished.

Reeling from the shock, Stiger involuntarily retreated a step. The conjurer’s gaze flickered between the fallen sword and Stiger’s disbelieving expression. Gradually, a sinister smile crept across the man’s face—a smile devoid of warmth, filled with cold, steely satisfaction and the certainty of an imminent victory that included Stiger’s death.

Stiger felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, standing there unarmed and exposed. The man menacingly extended his staff once more, and Stiger found himself gasping for breath. To his horror, he realized that he was unable to move as well. It was as though his entire body had been encased in ice, held captive. He could feel the warmth gradually draining from his body, seeping out of his very bones one small measure at a time. The chilling realization dawned on him that the Masella was siphoning his life force, steadily drawing it from him as he stood there, frozen and utterly helpless.

With all his might, Stiger struggled against the powerful hold that had been placed upon him, but his efforts were fruitless and in vain. He was firmly trapped, unable to move even an inch. He had a flash of Taha’Leeth and knew without a doubt he was about to lose not only his life, but hers as well, for the Masella, after he killed Stiger, would surely turn on her next.

He recalled Rarokan telling him he was a fool. Stiger wished he’d heeded the wizard, and with that thought, panic began to set in as his vision started to narrow and fade into an eerie gray. He understood deep within his heart that he was facing death. Stiger felt his knees begin to waver, to buckle, as he grew weaker by the moment.

His lungs burned painfully.

What could he possibly do to counter such immense power?

The world around him dimmed further as he felt himself slipping from it. He could still hear the sounds of battle, but fainter now with the blood roaring in his ears, and beyond that …

A voice.

It sounded faraway, and it was unfamiliar to him, but there was an urgency to the tone that made Stiger pick it up over the muffled sounds of steel on steel. He grasped at it, the thread tethering him to the living. He made out a single word.

Pray.

Memories of the High Father’s temple and Camela flashed before Stiger’s eyes, the statue’s gaze, the light, his god’s personal touch.

The voice grew louder. Pray.

He remembered the warmth of his connection to the High Father as he reached out to ask for guidance, help. The voice grew louder still, now reverberating in his mind.

Pray. Embrace your faith and pray. PRAY!

Desperation clawing at him, he summoned his last bit of strength to silently plead, “High Father, grant me the strength to endure, to fight back. Please don’t abandon me in this hour of need.”

Almost immediately, the vice-like grip on his body began to loosen, and a warm, potent energy welled up within. His connection to the High Father intensified, and he managed ever so slightly to draw in a ragged, life-giving breath. The sensation was pure divine ecstasy. As he took a second deeper breath, the gray hovering around the edges began to recede.

A guttural growl of determination escaped his lips, and he spat out, “Very well, friend. If that’s the game you wish to play, let’s see whose deity truly holds the greater power.”

With those words, Stiger delved deep within himself, tapping into the divine white fire. The High Father’s power surged like a tidal wave, a near-explosive force that ignited Stiger’s very essence. The sensation was anything but soothing; instead, it was an all-consuming, malevolent fury that magnified his own wrath terribly. Stiger saw red around the edges of his vision, and the sheer intensity of it forced him to a knee, simply overwhelmed by the raw power coursing through him, the magnitude of it, the hatred … the pure and utter loathing for Mastel’s servant and the god itself.

As Stiger raised his gaze, the conjurer took an involuntary step back. Stiger rose slowly to his feet and advanced a step toward his adversary.

The Masella brandished his staff, and Stiger felt the swell of power grow from the man. Stiger envisioned a deflective sphere akin to the conjurer’s own. Before he could implore the High Father for assistance to raise one, a green dart shot toward him, lightning fast, and aimed directly at his heart. As if it could sense what he needed, the power within Stiger pulsed, and a luminescent white sphere materialized around Stiger, barely a fraction of a heartbeat before the lethal projectile struck. The energy made a cracking sound as it ricocheted off the protective barrier with a sharp snap, soaring into the sky.

Though unsure of how he had managed to conjure a similar sphere, it was Stiger’s turn to flash a triumphant grin at the suddenly bewildered conjurer.

“Two can play at that game, my friend,” Stiger taunted, the white sphere dissipating. The High Father’s power roiled within him like a tempest, yearning for release. Taking another step forward, Stiger extended his hand toward his opponent’s blue sphere.

A resonant toll of a bell echoed through the air, followed by a sizzling sound. The divine energy within Stiger pulsed once more, streaming from his outstretched hand and into the sphere. As the power coursed through and out of him, the blue sphere shattered like glass before dissolving into nothingness.

In that instant, their surroundings vanished. The pair now stood upon a verdant plain, the landscape beyond a few yards rendered a hazy, indistinct blur. All that remained in focus were the two combatants, locked in a battle of wills and divine power.

“So,” the conjurer remarked in heavily accented and thick Common, his voice steady and devoid of fear, “you must be the Champion, the disciple of the High Father I’ve heard so much about.”

“I am,” Stiger confirmed, his eyes never leaving the conjurer’s.

“Veers mentioned you—more than once. He harbors a deep-seated hatred toward you, perhaps even bordering on the irrational. He respects you as well, maybe even fears you some.”

“You serve him, then,” Stiger surmised.

“Never,” the conjurer declared resolutely and then spat upon the ground. “Mastel answers to no one. We are independent, beholden to none.”

“Yet here you are, fighting alongside them, the Cyphan,” Stiger pointed out.

“Ours is a temporary alliance of convenience, nothing more.”

“Do you truly believe that? The moment Veers is done with us, he’ll turn his sights on you and your god.”

“We fully anticipate that outcome, and we are preparing for it. When the time comes, we will be ready to face him,” the conjurer asserted with confidence. “With our help he will defeat your empire, but he will never bring us to our knees. No one has ever been able to achieve such a thing, and no one ever will.”

Stiger was on the verge of proclaiming that he was not Mastel’s enemy, but the words caught in his throat. He realized with certainty that the High Father and Mastel were eternal adversaries, and any chance of reconciliation was impossible, something that would never, could never be.

“And now you see the truth of the matter,” the conjurer intoned, as if he had read Stiger’s thoughts. Without warning, he lunged forward, swinging his staff powerfully toward Stiger’s head. Easily ducking the blow, Stiger allowed the weapon to whoosh harmlessly overhead. Stiger seized the opportunity and sprang forward, driving his fist into the conjurer’s jaw.

The impact snapped the man’s head back, and he stumbled backward several steps. Drawing his dagger, and giving his opponent no time, Stiger closed the gap before the conjurer could regain his bearings.

Grabbing the man tightly by his robe, Stiger, with a vicious thrust, plunged the dagger deep into the man’s abdomen, eliciting a pained grunt and a gurgle. Stiger twisted the blade cruelly before yanking it free. He stabbed again, eliciting a guttural groan this time.

The slickness of blood coated Stiger’s hand in a thick, hot wetness. He tightened his grip on the dagger’s rope grip and gave it another twist. Stepping back, he withdrew the dagger a second time.

As blood poured forth from the terrible wounds Stiger had inflicted, the conjurer fell to his knees, clutching his stomach with both hands. The man’s eyes, filled with the certain knowledge of his impending doom, locked onto Stiger’s.

“It is an—honor to—die at your hands,” the conjurer gasped, blood flecking his lips and frothing as he spoke, “to be vanquished by the direct disciple of a rival god, someone far above my comparable station. I am—but a lowly priest, an apprentice to the master who just died. But still—no other demise could be more fitting. Mastel will greet me with welcome and open arms for facing you without fear or flinching from a fight I could never hope to win. Thank you … thank you for the honor and my ascension.”

Stiger had not anticipated such words from this man or the revelation that he wasn’t even a full Masella. Some of the rage and hate within him receded. He could sense that the imminent threat had passed. This priest was no longer a danger to him.

“End my suffering,” the man pleaded, blood spilling forth in gobs from his mouth. “Send me onward to Mastel, to her—loving embrace. I would grant you the same mercy if our roles were reversed. You would not suffer under my hand. Such ways are—not right—not honorable.”

Stiger regarded the man with curiosity, fascination even. “Who are you? What is your name?”

“Keegan,” the man replied, choking on his own blood. His face twisted with agony. He began panting. “Kill me. I don’t wish to suffer.”

“Very well, Keegan,” Stiger conceded. “You have earned your rest.”

“Thank you, Champion—of the High Father. You—do me great honor. Now”—Keegan’s tone hardened—“release me from the chains holding me down, tying me to this world.”

Stiger moved around behind Keegan, bent down, and grasped the man’s hair tightly. Pulling back, Stiger exposed his throat and placed the blade of his dagger under the man’s wild beard. Looking into the other’s eyes, with a swift stroke of his blade, Stiger severed Keegan’s throat, cutting and sawing through the artery and right down to the spine. As the anticipated gush of blood erupted, he released his hold and stepped back.

The priest, still on his knees, choked, swaying as he gagged feebly. Then, he fell over onto his side as his eyes rolled up and into the back of his head. Moments later, the Mastelian conjurer gave a violent twitch and expired.

With his death, the anger left Stiger. In its place, he felt a surge of satisfaction and a sense of duty fulfilled. The High Father approved. The world around him snapped back into focus—the camp, the fighting, the blazing tents.

Stiger spotted Taha’Leeth nearby. She had come to her feet. Her gaze shifted between him and the lifeless conjurer at his feet. She seemed shaken. Overwhelmed with relief that she was unharmed, Stiger found himself grinning at her stupidly. Then, he sobered and looked around, surveying the scene about him.

Ruga and his men had descended partway down the nearest stairs. They had paused, staring at him in clear shock, along with those nearest, mostly elves, though a few gnomes were looking on as well. There were no more enemy nearby, but there was still fighting going on throughout the encampment. Stiger wondered how much of his confrontation with Keegan those nearest had witnessed. What exactly had they seen?

He pushed the thought aside, remembering the ongoing battle outside the camp. Stiger retrieved Rarokan. He felt the accustomed tingle of energy as he took it in hand.

Well done, Champion, Rarokan said and then laughed wickedly.

Stiger ignored the mad wizard and turned for the stairs. As he approached, Ruga seemed poised to speak, but Stiger preempted him with a hand. He needed to see what was going on with the overall battle.

“We can discuss what happened later.” Stiger made his way up the stairs, past the centurion and his men, up to the wall. He took a moment to assess the chaotic melee on the other side of the wall in the gap in between the siege works and the camp.

His forces were in a difficult position, but they seemed to be gaining the upper hand, albeit marginally. He glanced up at the garrison, realizing there hadn’t been enough time for a messenger to reach the defenders. Nonetheless, the gate was open, and a column of men was marching out, legionaries. Reinforcements would soon arrive. It would take time for them to work their way down the hill and join the fray, but they were surely coming. Still, even with reinforcement, Stiger knew that his forces, particularly the gnomes, would pay a heavy toll for victory this day, a price he was now reluctant to accept. They had suffered enough, and the enemy, the tribesmen outside the camp, showed no signs of breaking anytime soon.

“We’re going to win, but it’s going to hurt,” Ruga said as he came to stand at Stiger’s side, his gaze surveying the ongoing battle. “That much is plain.”

Stiger nodded, then made a decision, one he hoped he wouldn’t come to regret.

“Stovan, can you hear me?”

Stovan’Tassm is dead, Carin’Phax replied in his mind. Through their connection, Stiger could sense the anguish, the loss, and the overwhelming rage and hatred emanating through the connection. She fell to that abomination.

The fear surged once more, this time much stronger than the last. Even with his sword in hand, the sheer power of it nearly brought Stiger to his knees. The gnomes, who had previously seemed unaffected, shuddered and halted their actions. Fighting across the entire battlefield came to a standstill under the weight of the oppressive fear.

A series of furious cries and roars of anger drew Stiger’s gaze skyward.

DIE! Carin’Phax screamed within Stiger’s mind, the intensity of the emotions threatening to consume him. Stiger realized that everyone on the battlefield could hear the dragon.

A moment later, eight dragons emerged from beneath the clouds, their wings tucked back as they descended with incredible speed, seeming to drop out of the sky.

Stiger could sense their collective rage and desire for revenge, their need to make the enemy suffer. The overwhelming power of their magical fear shook him to his core, even as he clutched his sword, trying to resist the magic with Rarokan’s help.

The dragons split apart, each heading toward a different part of the battlefield. A green dragon swooped low before Stiger and unleashed a stream of fire upon a large group of enemy soldiers that had been moving into the gap. Despite being more than two hundred yards away, Stiger felt the blistering heat rolling back at him, seeming to singe his skin. All around, dragons attacked, raining down fiery destruction upon the enemy in a cataclysmic display of rage and revenge that left Stiger utterly awestruck.

A red dragon, whom Stiger assumed to be Carin’Phax, landed amidst a mass of enemy troops, crashing into them. She unleashed her fiery breath upon those before her, then behind and around.

Stiger could hear the screams as hundreds perished under the relentless assault. The dragon’s ferocity was awe-inspiring. She then set to work with her claws, tail, and jaws, wreaking havoc in a manner only a dragon could achieve. Men were hurled through the air, crushed, and physically ripped apart.

Stiger watched in a sort of horrified fascination as the dragons rampaged amongst the enemy. All the while, Carin’Phax continued to command the enemy to DIE, DIE, DIE.

Even after the fear subsided, the gnomes, like everyone else, stood transfixed, witnessing the utter devastation unfolding before them, not just in the gap, but across the entire battlefield. Enemy soldiers who had the presence of mind to flee did so, or at least they tried to … running for their lives.

Off in the distance to the west, a white dragon swooped down and, like a bird of prey, snatched several running enemies with her claws, lifting them into the air. Their screams echoed across the battlefield as they were carried away.

Finally, the gnomes seemed to overcome their shock. First, a few sprang into action, then more, and soon all of them. With vengeful cries, much humming, and a renewed eagerness to please their gods, they set upon the remaining enemy forces with nearly unmatched ferocity, even giving the dragons a run for their money. Stiger figured the little bastards wanted to get as many of the enemy as they could before the dragons got them all.

He hardened his heart as he watched the utter destruction of the enemy army by the dragons and the gnomes. This was his enemy, the empire’s enemy. Still holding his sword, his anger bubbled up as he gripped the edge of the palisade with one hand. They had earned their fate.

“Kill them all,” he breathed to himself. “Kill them all.”

DIE, DIE, DIE, Carin’Phax kept repeating as she breathed out a blast of fire and burned dozens of the enemy before her.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Ruga whispered, his hands resting on the palisade as he stared in awestruck horror at the scene unfolding before them. Ruga’s men were looking on in shock as well.

Stiger did not reply. He just kept watching.

Ruga looked over at him. “I’m grateful they’re on our side, sir.”

“As am I,” Stiger said. “But we must remember that the enemy has dragons as well, likely far more than we do. They could inflict the same devastation upon us if we’re not careful.”

“At least I don’t wear undergarments, sir,” Ruga quipped after a moment.

It was such a random thing to say that Stiger couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected remark. He felt the tension and his anger dissipate. He laughed heartily, drawing questioning glances from the nearest elves on the wall, all of whom had been watching the dragons continue their rampage of death.

As his laughter subsided, Stiger sobered once more and turned his attention back to the dragons as they continued to tear through the enemy with unrelenting fury and a seemingly insatiable desire for vengeance. He knew that he had won the day, or really the dragons had ultimately decided the matter. The legions were saved, and before his eyes, an entire enemy army was being systematically dismantled and destroyed.

Yet he couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. The dragon that had been struck down first by the Masella, several hundred yards to their left, lay amid the ruined siege works. The sight of it filled him with sadness and concern, worry even. Stiger wondered if it was Stovan. Then his thoughts moved on to the future. Would the dragons’ expenditure of will—and they were clearly expending a great deal of it—cost him in the weeks and months ahead? Stiger didn’t know, but he worried it would.

He’d struck at the enemy, taken a risk, and was even now hammering home a blow for his side. He’d made this happen. As he sheathed his sword, he watched the fight he had chosen, the fight he’d picked and instigated, conclude in a manner he had not anticipated.

In the brutal landscape of war, a victory, no matter how gruesome or marred with imperfections, was still a victory. Stiger, having ascended to the position of emperor, understood the harsh realities of battle and the importance of seizing even the most unsightly triumphs. For in the end, it was these victories that set the course of history.

The nature of warfare was victory and defeat, a deadly dance, with each step potentially determining the fate of nations and entire peoples. In the eyes of Stiger, the cost of failure was far greater than the blemishes of an ill-favored victory.

Such was war, and a victory was a victory, no matter how ugly. Stiger, as emperor, would take it for it was—better than defeat—and he now had two more legions.

Epilogue

Stiger stood in the heart of the forest, Dog by his side, attentively observing their surroundings. The sun shone through the dense canopy of leaves, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. The air was warm but not stifling, with a gentle breeze occasionally rustling the leaves overhead. The scent of damp soil, rich with decay, and the fragrance of foliage filled the air. The vibrant green and lush vegetation seemed to pulse with life, as if the forest were a living, breathing entity.

Stiger’s sword was drawn, its blade blazing with an ethereal blue fire that flickered and danced along the gleaming steel. The fire cast an eerie glow on the undergrowth, creating shifting, ghostly shadows. Strangely, Stiger’s cape was a brilliant white, in stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the forest. It billowed behind and occasionally around him as he moved or the wind stirred.

His eyes narrowed, Stiger scanned the area, his senses heightened and his muscles tensed, ready for action. He had no idea where he was or how he had arrived in this place, but an overwhelming sense of foreboding told him that danger was near. Something sinister lurked within the shadows, a malevolent presence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Fueling resolve, a rage burned within him like a firestorm, consuming his every thought and emotion. It was a fury so powerful that it threatened to shatter his very being, leaving him raw and unmoored. He could not recall what had happened to evoke such a visceral response, but an insatiable desire for revenge consumed him. He craved retribution for some unknown injustice, something that had been snatched cruelly away … a need so potent that it had become the driving force of his existence, his only focus.

His dog, sensing Stiger’s tension, stood on high alert, ears perked and eyes trained on the shadows that surrounded them. The animal stood as a vigilant protector, his loyalty unwavering in the face of such grave danger.

Stiger took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle that lay ahead. With his blazing sword in hand and Dog at his side, he was prepared to confront whatever darkness awaited him within the depths of this forest. The intensity of his anger and thirst for vengeance would be his guiding force, propelling him forward in search of answers and retribution, even if the path to that end remained shrouded in mystery.

“Come to me,” a haunting voice whispered, its tone enticing yet commanding. “Come to me, Champion, for I am waiting.”

With a jolt, Stiger’s eyes snapped open. Disoriented, he sat up in his cot, heart pounding as he blinked and looked around wildly. He was in his tent, the familiar canvas walls reassuring him that he was no longer in that strange, otherworldly forest. As he acclimated to his surroundings, the chilling winter air hit him like a slap in the face. It reminded him that he was far from the warmth of that other place, the forest. Memories flooded back—the fierce battle, the dragons, and the annihilation of the enemy’s army. All of that and more had transpired just hours ago.

“Excuse me, sir,” Ruga said from the entrance of the tent. He had to bend down slightly, as this was the more intimate two-person tent Stiger shared with Taha’Leeth. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“That’s all right.” Stiger rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he tried to shake off the remnants of his vivid dream. It was dark outside the tent, but he could make out the flickering glow of a fire through the flap, casting shadows on the ground. Taha’Leeth sat before the fire, her silhouette framed against the orange light. “What is it?”

“The legates from the Felix Legion and the Forty-Fifth are here to see you, as requested,” Ruga informed him. “They’ve just arrived and are currently waiting at headquarters.”

“Understood,” Stiger affirmed, his voice resolute. “I’ll be leaving as soon as possible, most likely in the morning. Kindly make sure we have precooked rations for at least two weeks.”

“I know and I will, sir,” Ruga replied, his tone tinged with disappointment. “I just wish you’d reconsider taking me and the boys along. We’ve—I’ve served you loyally.”

“Your service has never been in question.” Stiger swung his legs over the cot, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “Where I’m headed, it’s not a place for you to follow. Trust me on this.”

“Aye, sir,” Ruga conceded, though he sounded unconvinced. “My duty is to stand by your side, come what may.”

“Not this time,” Stiger insisted, stifling a yawn. “You’ll be returning to the capital. Once there, your responsibility will be to protect my father until I can join you.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruga acknowledged, his voice solemn.

“I’m counting on you.”

“I know, sir,” Ruga responded earnestly. “I won’t let you down, not on my watch.”

“I trust you won’t. Any questions?”

“No, sir. We’ll depart shortly after you, dragons permitting.”

“Excellent,” Stiger said, satisfied with the plan. “Inform our guests that I’ll be right there.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And Ruga?” Stiger called out as the centurion turned to leave. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“I’m just doing my duty, sir,” Ruga replied, his voice softened by a hint of pride. “It helps that I believe in you and our cause. Besides, you’re not half bad for a noble.”

With that, the centurion stepped out, allowing the tent flap to fall back into place, leaving Stiger alone to gather his thoughts and prepare himself for the meeting that lay ahead.

Stiger rose from his cot, hunching over slightly due to the low ceiling of the tent. He reached for Rarokan’s harness, skillfully sliding it and the weapon over his shoulder and adjusting it until it sat comfortably in place. The anger from his dream lingered, as if they had been real, tangible experiences, not a fantasy of a sleep-deprived mind.

“What was I so angry at?” Stiger asked himself, the question hanging in the still air.

Me, came the voice in his head. The words were like a chilling breeze, causing Stiger to go still, for it wasn’t Rarokan speaking. Though he’d not heard it in a long time, Stiger recognized the voice.

And I am waiting … and I have those who you want and need—for the road ahead is a perilous one.

The rage surged within him, reigniting like a blazing inferno. “Don’t worry, I’m coming for you,” Stiger vowed, his voice a low growl.

I know … I’m counting on it.

“This time, I will make certain I kill you,” Stiger promised, his words dripping with determination.

The connection abruptly severed, leaving Stiger alone with his thoughts.

We will kill him together, the sword whispered in his mind. We will go to his domain, the volcano, slay Amaranth, and claim his soul for our own purposes. Before this is over, we will need it, and more importantly, you have already done it.

“How could I already have done it?” Stiger asked, confused.

Because I was there, Champion of the White, the sword answered cryptically, its words echoing in Stiger’s mind like a prophecy yet to be fulfilled. Because I was there.

Stiger will return in November/December 2023.
The Tiger’s Rage: The Stiger Chronicles Book 8

Read on to enjoy a look at:
Rapax Pax: The Karus Saga Book 4 (Out Now!)

Rapax Pax

Prologue

Krix gazed at the devastation surrounding him. It was stunning, shocking even, but nothing that he had not seen before in his long years. Normally, he surveyed such sights from the viewpoint of the victor, a leader at the head of an army bearing witness to the destruction of those who dared resist the Horde’s, and by extension his, will.

He relaxed his jaw and forced his hands to let go from the fists he had subconsciously balled them into. Today was not a normal day. For more than an hour, he had been wandering through the ruined streets of Carthum surveying the destruction.

The stench of death and decay flooded his nostrils. The specter of death itself seemed to have clutched the city in its arms and let no part of it escape its embrace. It nearly overpowered the acrid reek of smoke and burnt and charred wood that also hung heavily on the air.

Lien, his chief aide and assistant, quietly trailed a few feet behind. Ash lay over the paving stones of the street. It clung to the hems of their gray woolen cloaks and puffed up into the air with every step.

The wind blew. The ash, like fresh snow, took flight. He coughed lightly as he breathed it in, then spat upon the ground.

They had left their escort and the flight of wyrms that had brought them to Carthum just outside the city. Krix had not taken anyone other than Lien to explore, for to do so might see the monster emerge. All it would take was a fit of rage during an unguarded moment. Krix did not want that, for it would only make an unfortunate situation worse.

In truth, he was guarding against being tempted to take out his wrath upon some unfortunate. When that happened and the monster emerged, he always came to regret it.

Having come to a city square, Krix stopped and gazed around. A fountain had once graced the center of the square. It had been intentionally destroyed and broken up. Around the fountain lay hundreds of burnt, charred, and badly decomposing bodies. It was as if they had sought shelter here from the firestorm that had raged and engulfed the city, which he supposed was what had happened.

Krix understood the fire had not killed them. The smoke and lack of air had overcome these unfortunates before the heat could even manage to do more than singe. Eventually the heat, working like an oven, had cooked the bodies. And now they rotted.

The birds, carrion eaters, were squawking loudly as they picked and worried at the flesh of the dead. All over the city, birds by the thousands had arrived and were eating their fill.

The sight of it made Krix ill to his stomach, for all of the dead were orcs, his soldiers …

Krix felt a wave of intense rage at the sight of the putrefying bodies lying around the fountain in piles. This was his fault. No one else bore the blame but him.

There had been so many setbacks across Tannis of late that it was keeping his sleep fitful. Setbacks he could deal with; disasters like this one enraged him to no end. The minion had clearly been right and Krix found that thought alone maddening, for he hated being wrong. Failure, in his occupation, was unacceptable.

“I should have listened. I should have concentrated all of my attention against the humans from Terra. I did not give them the respect they clearly deserve, and now … ” He balled his fists again. “And now I have paid for it a hundredfold.”

Wisely, his aide chose to remain silent.

With effort, Krix forced his fists to unclench. There was nothing to be done about his failure in judgement. It was too late to fix things, for he was committed to other courses of action. And those could not be easily changed without their own dire repercussions, especially now.

His gaze ran over the blackened and bloated bodies, the birds picking at the flesh and squawking loudly amongst themselves as they sought and fought over the best morsels. Krix breathed out a long breath. Those who had done this had, for the moment, gotten away.

He would not seek revenge. No … that was something Krix did not believe in, for such pursuits were a waste of effort and energy. It was often messy and ultimately counterproductive, for it lost sight of the big picture. He well knew the secret to success was keeping his gaze fixed firmly upon the prize, the end goal, and never letting it wander by seeking out recompense.

In his experience, being successful often saw recompense delivered in equal measure. Success was the ultimate form of justice and, in its own way, revenge. And there was no doubt in his mind that he would ultimately be successful in conquering Tannis.

There was a scuff on the stone paving behind him. Krix shook his head, dragging himself back to the present. He knew he’d been standing here, silent, brooding for some time, while Lien patiently waited. The leader of the Horde upon Tannis turned and regarded his chief aide for a long, simmering moment.

Lien had intentionally drawn his attention—sometimes, in moments like this one, a dangerous thing. Instead, Krix sucked in a breath of the foul air and gave a slight sigh of breath. He understood it was past time for them to talk, for soon they must go their separate ways. The Horde’s operations on this world spanned much of its surface.

There were important matters to be attended to, ones he and Lien could ill afford to ignore. It was why they had agreed to meet here to confer in person, while surveying what had been done to one of their armies.

“I suppose it time to get down to business,” Krix said as more of a statement than a question.

“As you wish, my lord,” Lien said in a neutral tone.

Krix gave a grunt. Lien knew his moods only too well. He turned away, and as he did, he waved a hand about at the destruction surrounding them. The entire city had been thoroughly burned to the ground. Only a handful of structures remained standing and those were only skeletal reminders of what they had once been.

“Have you learned anything from this?” Krix felt the monster within begin to stir, attempting to rise up and escape the confines of its prison. He forced the mad and impulsive creature back down. “Have you learned anything useful from this disaster? Anything that … that might be of value?”

“I have,” Lien said, and his lips twisted slightly in amusement, for he clearly knew the effort it was taking Krix to contain his monster.

That knowledge only served to stoke Krix’s rage to new levels. But he could not afford to take it out on his aide. Lien was too valuable, and besides, they had too much shared history. There was also the curious fact that the monster that resided within Krix now had a twin, one that lived within Lien as well.

The council on Longtow had seen to that, bestowing great honor upon the man for his long and devoted service to the Horde. Both were almost equals now … almost.

“And?” Krix asked.

“There was a Knight of the Vass within the city when it was stormed, and it was not Leerashan.”

“Another Knight?” Krix asked, startled at hearing this unhappy revelation. “You are saying there are two Knights of the Vass upon this world?”

Could his headaches and problems get any worse? Unsurprisingly, it now seemed that they could.

“It seems so, my lord,” Lien said, clasping his hands together. “He goes by Ugin, but his full name is Ugincalt. He may have a longer name. I have yet to learn it. I am doing all I can to track down more information on him.”

“Ugincalt,” Krix repeated, sounding the name out. He felt a stirring … a jogging of his memory, something that had occurred long ago, and yet, he could not quite place it. “Ugincalt … I believe I have heard his name before … we both have, yes?”

“Indeed,” Lien said. “I had to do some research and set the clerks loose in the archives, but it seems he was the commander at the Battle of Serigast. If you recall, my lord, that battle occurred shortly after we first invaded this world. We were handed a stinging defeat by the Vass. I believe your predecessor was in charge during that painful time. Serigast ultimately led to his … shall we say … demotion.”

“Ah yes.” Krix snapped his fingers, recalling the events of that setback. There was a veiled warning in Lien’s words. The man was loyal and was cautioning Krix, for they both knew the council was far from tolerant when it came to repeated failure.

Carthum was a failure. There was no doubt about that. Still, overall, Krix had no immediate concerns, for his successes to date far outweighed his setbacks.

“Yes, yes … Ugincalt led their army to victory,” Krix said, as the memories from that time flooded back. “After that, we avoided the Vass when at all possible.”

“Yes, we have given them a wide berth,” Lien said, “but now … that may no longer be possible.”

Krix gave an unhappy nod. “I suppose he might have been made a Knight by his god for the service he performed in that battle. Such things have happened on our side in the past … why not the enemy’s too?”

“They have and it is indeed possible,” Lien conceded, “but I do not believe it so. I think it more likely he was always a Knight. He might have intentionally disguised himself, so as not to attract undue attention. My sources tell me he was searching for something here in Carthum and the surrounding area before the city was razed.”

“Really?” Krix asked, intrigued.

“Just before the battle here, Vass were also spotted at Kering Holt. They ventured into the depths of that stronghold and slaughtered many of the goblin warriors there. I believe that to be Ugincalt’s work. Several Vass perished in the effort. When their corpses were examined, they all bore marks and the brand of Guardians.”

“Kering Holt?” Krix replied, even more surprised than he was a moment ago. “Really?”

“And you well know what was once kept in that deep vault,” Lien said meaningfully, “what the goblins there coveted, hid, and kept out of the light … even from us … before it was stolen.”

“So.” Krix rubbed his jaw. “They are hunting for the Nian Crown, are they?”

“I would think so,” Lien said. “All evidence points in that general direction.”

“That changes things … yes, I do believe that changes things somewhat,” Krix said as he considered the implications. “Do you think they found it?”

“In Carthum?” Lien said. “I doubt it. But now that we know what the Vass and noctalum are after, the relic they wish to reassemble, we can hunt for the crown as well and perhaps even deny them that vital component of the tool.”

“You clearly have someone in mind,” Krix said, realizing that Lien already had a plan on how to interfere with the Vass. “Who do you wish to put on this mission?”

“Silvien.”

“That witch?” Krix asked as he thought on it some. “She is not one to spare those who work for her. But then again, you have always been somewhat fond of her, haven’t you? That soft spot may one day come back to bite you … ”

“She is ruthless,” Lien said, not rising to the bait. “But I think, in this instance, ruthless is what is needed … and she’s never failed us.”

“Instead, she’s disappointed us,” Krix said, “but you are correct, she’s never not succeeded at a mission that was given to her. It is her ambition that must be watched, and closely.”

“Silvien’s also intimately familiar with the Vass. She knows how they think, if anyone can really understand them. She might be able to anticipate their moves. If I had to bet on someone finding the crown before they do, it would be her.”

“What is she doing now?”

“She is participating with the effort against the elves,” Lien said, “playing a minor role at best, and likely resenting it mightily. I think she feels we have sidelined her, which we have … ”

“She did that to herself,” Krix rumbled. He’d never liked Silvien, not like Lien did, but his aide was correct. She got results and in this case that was all that mattered.

Lien remained silent.

“So be it, then,” Krix said. “Silvien it is. Assign her whatever assets she requires and point her in the right direction. With luck she will do the rest.”

“Does that include wyrms?” Lien asked curiously. “We have been losing far too many of the beasts of late.”

“It does,” Krix said almost reluctantly. “If we are to challenge the Vass directly, we are going to do it right and not skimp on the resources needed to get the job done, especially if we can deny the Vass and noctalum what they need. Lien, this is an opportunity we cannot pass up. Her mission must be a successful one. Give her whatever she requires, even a wizard if she asks for one.”

Lien inclined his head in acceptance.

“What else have you learned?” Krix asked.

“Ugincalt was in the city during the siege. He fought with the humans, alongside them.”

“A onetime bargain?” Krix mused. “Or do you believe this is a more permanent alliance?”

“I do not know … yet,” Lien replied. He shook his head as he thought for a moment. “To adequately answer that question would require more investigation, but I personally feel the former is the most likely explanation.”

Krix gave a nod of agreement.

“The humans have, however, clearly allied with the dwarven warband, what’s left of it,” Lien added. “They were saved from annihilation by this Karus and the taltalum.”

“I’d heard that.” Krix felt the rage begin bubbling again as the monster stirred, threatening to wake. Yet another force destroyed, more of his precious warriors lost. “Not only does he carry Rarokan, but this man from humanity’s cradle world is dangerous. He has ideas and strength of will … enough to potentially undo all that we have done upon this world.”

“You think so?” Lien’s olive-shaped eyes widened, revealing genuine surprise at that. “Truly? We have momentum now.”

“He has proven he can forge unity where we have spent serious effort sowing discord and division … and he did this … ” Krix held out his arms for emphasis at the destruction around them.

Lien looked sourly around them.

“Who else could have started a veritable firestorm, trapping himself and our army inside this city … with only he and his at the end of the day managing to survive and march out of here? Who else could have achieved such a feat? I tell you, Lien, he is an instrument of prophecy, destiny even, a force now to be reckoned with. Carthum is clear evidence of that. This Karus and his small army … what was it called again?”

“A legion, my lord,” Lien said.

“Yes, that is right, this Karus and his legion have strength carried here from their cradle world. Clearly you can see that … I do, especially after this … ”

His unfocused gaze staring out at their surroundings, Lien did not initially respond. After several moments he expelled a long breath and gave a curt nod of agreement. “I fear you have the right of it, my lord. Karus has indeed proven himself to be a grave danger … a threat to all we work toward.”

“And the Anagradoom—the Blackwatch, that lonely order of elves—now guard him,” Krix added, feeling the frustration again. “Elves, dwarves, taltalum, and now the Vass … all working with the humans. This is something we have worked to keep from happening … until the end when they’ve lost everything and there is no hope.”

“The Anagradoom certainly complicate matters,” Lien said. “They will make any assassination attempt that much more difficult … challenging in the extreme. They are the best of the best of elven warriors and that was before they were imbued with occult powers by the High Master of Obsidian. I understand many are veterans of Longtow … especially their leader, Kol’Cara.”

“I know that elf well,” Krix said, thinking back to the campaigns upon that world and how Kol’Cara and his army had frustrated many of them. “It is a shame we could not kill him before he fled to Tannis … ” Krix paused as he thought, then returned to the matter at hand and pushed the past away. “Yes, it will be difficult, but I think we must ultimately try to assassinate this Karus.”

“If he is killed, my lord,” Lien said, “we must consider there is the chance, however unlikely, another, more formidable, human may rise from those who came from their world and take his place, perhaps one with will and the ability to use it, along with the dread sword Rarokan, which he now actively wields. Can we afford to take that risk? Dare we?”

Krix did not at first reply, as he looked at the problem from all angles, considering how best to crack the nut. It was frustrating to be sure, and Lien’s point was strong.

“Most worryingly, Karus has the High Father’s direct representative at his side,” Lien continued. “I have learned her name is Amarra.”

“Do we know who she is?” Krix asked.

“She is the King of Carthum’s daughter.”

“Really?” Krix asked. “How is that possible? I thought the King turned his back upon his ancestral god.”

“The King imprisoned her for her steadfast faith and left his daughter to die of starvation when he abandoned the city. Apparently, Karus freed her. She has since been named High Priestess.”

“By who?” Krix asked. “Who named her?”

“It appears the High Father named her. She has a powerful priestly will, along with the ability to use it. She also, it seems, wields the Spear of Atonement, something we thought lost on Longtow. How it traveled to Tannis … and how it came into her possession … ”

Krix looked sharply at his aide. Lien gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Are you certain about that? The Spear of Atonement, here on this world?”

“Certain, no … but it seems to be the same relic,” Lien said. “At least the characteristics that were described to me indicate it to be the spear in question. If true, it is incredibly dangerous, not to mention this Amarra may once more ignite the faith of the High Father upon this world. We might even see a paladin rise. Right now, we are mostly fighting the faithless, and faith, as you know, lends one strength … strength to resist … to strike back and fight.”

“Bah,” Krix said as the anger threatened once more to bring forth the monster. “We must destroy this Karus, and his people, grind them thoroughly beneath our boots. That is the way to end this threat before it can grow and metastasize. Lien, I tell you … I should have listened to Maresat when it counseled dealing with the humans from Terra first. The minion was correct … so correct … ”

Lien’s gray eyes were fixed upon his master. They were cold, hard, merciless, and filled with intelligence. Krix could see the reflection of the monster within his aide’s gaze, the dark shadow, the remnant of what once was. That it was there chilled his soul.

Though he was certain Lien had no such ambitions, Krix well knew that should he himself fall in this struggle for dominance over Tannis, the man would readily step in and take his place. That was as it should be, for Lien had earned his due and would make a worthy successor, even if his aide did not want it.

“Shall I call off our operations against the elves, then?” Lien asked. “We can pull our armies back upon this continent, concentrate them, and then march against this Karus and his legion. The elves can wait.”

“No,” Krix said firmly. “We have committed to dealing with the elves. Though it has already proven costly, we are beginning to see some progress made against their lesser and more isolated strongholds. We will continue our efforts to oust them from their forests, even if we must uproot every single tree to do it.”

“That will take time,” Lien said. “Can we afford to give Karus such?”

“It is too late to change course now,” Krix said. “It would be counterproductive to do so, especially since we have now made an active enemy of the elves. They will strike back at us with everything they have if we give them the chance to breathe and regroup. That might threaten our lines of communication, and we can’t have that.”

“But the cost in lives and material? We have already lost much more against the elves than what we lost here in Carthum, and this was considerable.” He gestured to the sea of charred and cooked orcs that surrounded them. “If Karus is successful in forming an alliance of nations and races against us, by the time we do face him, it may be on equal terms, especially if the dwarves join him.”

“It won’t be on equal terms,” Krix said, feeling some satisfaction. “As you know, I have just come from Longtow. The council is sending us reinforcements, and even now, they are beginning to pour through the World Gate.”

“What kind of reinforcements?” Lien asked cautiously, eyes narrowing.

“Some that we want and need and some that we had hoped not to receive.” Krix blew out an unhappy breath. “We knew the efforts against the elves would be costly. That’s why we had originally planned on leaving them for last. But with Te’Mava’s death, and no replacement warden in sight, events have changed that calculus. For better or worse, our main focus, for the moment, is now solely upon the elves. The council confirmed it, demanded it even once they learned of the warden’s fate.”

“I see,” Lien said. “We have our marching orders, then.”

“Yes, we do. We will crush the High Born and force them out of their forests, their homes. We will take the strength from their hearts and, in doing so, break their will, just as we did on Longtow. They will ultimately become nothing more than refugees fleeing the tide of our advance.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lien said. “And what of Karus? Should we send an assassination team? Theltra, perhaps? We have had success with Castor’s servants in the past and there are several hundred of that order upon this world already. We’d not need to send to Longtow for something more potent and persistent.”

“Yes, I think so, but do not dispatch a team just yet. I must ponder on an assassination attempt some, especially after your counsel. I will consult the prophecy before we take action. I may even visit the Oracle to receive a reading. As you said, someone more powerful may rise to replace him. I am not sure we can afford to allow that to occur. Before we act, I want to be certain.”

Lien inclined his head. “The enemy we know is better than the one we don’t.”

“Shadow him,” Krix said. “Plant spies within his ranks, corrupt and turn some of his followers. Let us learn more about him, his people, and the High Father’s priestess, Amarra.” Krix held up a warning hand. “But make sure those agents are without will. I would not have their High Priestess or the taltalum detecting them. That might make it more difficult to get close when the time comes for action, if we decide to send the Theltra or not.”

“What if the Vass still travel with him?” Lien asked. “They can detect the followers of our alignment easily enough.”

“Then make certain your agents are not believers. Use the faithless … there are plenty of them around on this world. Buy them with gold or whatever catches their fancy. Just make sure they are ours.”

“As you command, Lord Krix, it will be done.”

“What else do we have to talk about?” Krix asked. “I must return to Krakkean Keep to organize the reinforcements we’ve been given … before they too become yet another problem for us to manage. And you must be off too … ”

“The fleet we are constructing at Namenmoore,” Lien said. “That is becoming an issue.”

“What of it?” Krix asked curtly.

“We need more slaves and skilled laborers. Without gnome help, the construction process has been proceeding slowly, far too slowly for my tastes. When the time comes, I fear we will not be ready.”

Krix gave a nod and then turned his gaze back to the ruined city around him. Again he felt the rage bubble up and forced it back down. The gnomes were a problem. They had always been a problem.

Once the occupation army had left Lyre, the little bastards had picked themselves up and disappeared. Where they had gone, he had no idea. Krix found that frustrating and, in truth, a little troubling. He’d never much liked placing his trust in them.

For the last decade he had been wanting to move them to Namenmoore, but the gnomes had refused to stir from their depths in the deep dark. Their representatives had told him they were consulting their gods, taking a reading of their will, and having some sort of religious revival to boot. They would not budge until their so called “Holy Period” was finished.

And when gnomes became stiff-necked, he had learned, it was nigh impossible to compel them to do anything. Worse, making examples and killing some of them had little effect when it came to motivation, other than to provoke them, for gnomes did not fear death.

The last thing he needed was a gnome revolt, giving them an excuse to vent their rage upon his forces, especially the orcs, his main foot soldiers. There was a history of bad blood between the two races. Keeping them from killing each other during the best of times was not only a continual effort, but a struggle, and when roused the gnomes could be destructive, vindictive even. So he’d been patient and waited, biding his time. But now the little bastards had gone, and just when he really needed them the most.

Krix glanced down as movement caught his attention. It was an insect, an ordinary spider, harmless and likely in search of a meal as it made its way through the ash. Though he had long since killed the wizard who had cast it, across Tannis, the magical web that had taken most of the lesser insects out of phase and this reality was finally beginning to fail.

The spider was just one more sign of that process reaching its end point. Within just a few short years, maybe even months, the web’s matrix would collapse, and when that happened, Avaya’s servants upon this world would reach their full potential. Emerging from the shadows, where they normally operated, they would become much more useful to him, and Krix was looking forward to that day.

“Very well,” Krix said after a long moment, releasing a frustrated breath. He stomped down with a foot, squashing the spider amidst the ash. “Let’s walk and talk about it some more. We will find the labor you require … somewhere.” Krix glanced around the square. “But first, I would commit this … this disaster to memory, for when we do finally turn our full attention against Karus and the humans from Terra, I do not wish to underestimate them again.”

With that, Krix started off. Lien fell in at his side.

Chapter One

Dressed in his service tunic, Karus ducked out of his tent and into the early morning twilight. He glanced back at Amarra’s shadowed form as she lay sleeping peacefully on her cot. Thinking on his good fortune, Karus offered a silent prayer of thanks to the High Father for bringing the two of them together before allowing the tent flap to fall back into place.

Two legionaries standing guard just outside the entrance came to attention. A few feet away, by a low-burning fire, squatted one of the elves of the Anagradoom. The elf had been quietly staring into the depths of the flames. He looked up and over at Karus.

Ignoring the sentries and the elf, for one of them was always present no matter where he went, Karus came to a halt as he turned his gaze toward the lightening horizon to the east.

Within the next hour, first one and then the second of the two suns would rise over this alien world he and his legion had been transported to. Though they had now been here for months, he still wasn’t accustomed to seeing two suns hanging in the sky overhead. There was just something unnatural about it that he couldn’t shake.

Standing there in the cool early morning gloom, Karus was suddenly brought back to his time in Eboracum, the legion’s home and garrison in Britannia. Though it had only been a few months, so much had happened that it now seemed like an age had passed.

As an officer, he had gotten into the habit of rising early, long before his men, for there was always work that needed doing and there never seemed to be enough time. The higher he’d climbed in the ranks, the more his workload had increased, and the weight upon his shoulders only became heavier. Frequently, his days were so busy that they seemed to flash by. Karus wondered where the time went.

Getting up early had simply become part of his normal routine. Karus couldn’t recall the last time he’d managed to sleep in. It seemed wasteful. Had the Ninth not marched north under the command of the late Julionus, on a fool’s errand, he knew he’d likely still be in the legion’s garrison, catching an early breakfast with his closest friend Dio and preparing for the coming campaign season where nearly the entire Roman army in Britannia would deploy to strike at the barbarians to the north.

A stab of loss struck cruelly at his heart. It was quickly followed by hot anger. Dio had been brutally murdered by Logex and Ord. Karus had taken both men and their peoples in. He had given them shelter, security, and fed them.

And yet, while he had been traveling to the Fortress of Radiance, to retrieve the dread sword Rarokan, those two peoples, the Sersay and the Taka’noon, had betrayed him and turned against the legion.

In the end, he had seen that not only had their leaders, Logex and Ord, paid the ultimate price for crossing him, but so too had the majority of their people, who had been subsequently forced to surrender. They were now slaves serving the might of Rome upon this world.

Such heavy thoughts only served to make the morning seem gloomier. Resolved to begin his day right, Karus forced them from his mind as he made his way over to the elf, who stood as he approached.

The elf was tall, fair, and almost painfully skinny, wiry even, with long brown hair that had been brushed straight. His face was perfectly formed, and he seemed confident and self-assured. The elf’s eyes glistened with reflected firelight.

“I take it you are my escort for the day?” Karus asked.

“For the morning, at least, until I am relieved by another,” the elf replied in Common. He had a strong voice that matched his manner.

“What is your name?” Karus had not yet learned all of the names of the elves who had chosen to come with them after the killing of the Elantric Warden. He needed to rectify that, and soon, for they served as his protection detail.

“Rivun’Cur,” the elf replied. “You may call me Rivun.”

“All right, Rivun, how about we take a walk around the camp? I feel like stretching my legs some.”

Rivun looked meaningfully toward the tent. “What about your sword?”

Karus glanced back at the tent. “I did not wish to disturb Amarra. If I retrieved it, the chinking of the harness buckles might wake her.”

“You should carry it at all times,” Rivun said plainly, “for others, including our enemy, will crave such a powerful weapon and tool. There is no doubt in my mind they will come to seize it by force. Do you wish it to be her who confronts those who try to take it? Leaving the sword in your tent is not the best of ideas, no matter how well-guarded the camp.”

“You think they will come here,” Karus said, “into the center of this fortified camp, then? Is that what you are saying?”

Rivun did not reply. The message was clear enough. After a long moment, Karus let go a heavy breath and gave in.

“All right … all right … you win. I will be right back.” Karus returned to his tent and, moving the flap aside, ducked back inside as quietly as he could. The tent was dark and smelled of weatherproofing and smoke from a wood-burning brazier in the corner that had long since gone out.

Amarra lay where he’d left her, upon a cot off to the left. Her face was turned toward the wall and she was covered over in a camp blanket, looking quite comfortable. He could hear her steady and regular breathing.

Padding across the tent as quietly as he could, Karus moved over to the table where he had left the weapon, which was still in its sheath and harness. He carefully took it into his hands. The metal fastenings chinked softly as he raised it slowly up and off the table, glancing over at Amarra as he did it.

Amarra did not even stir, which he found to be a relief in itself. As quietly as he could, he moved back outside and into the growing light. Allowing the flap to fall back into place, Karus stepped away from the tent and then slipped the harness over his head.

The weapon’s comforting weight fell into place. Karus took a moment to get the harness into a better position on his shoulder. He made his way back over to Rivun, who had not moved from where Karus left him.

“Satisfied?” Karus asked the elf.

“I am,” Rivun said. “Not only are you now better prepared to defend yourself, but should an enemy attempt to take the dread weapon, it will be you who stands in their way, not your woman.”

The elf is right … the sword whispered in his mind. Be on guard … for they will come for both you and me …

Karus chilled at those words, for there was the essence of a soul trapped within the blade, and apparently a mad one at that. Just the thought of it made him uncomfortable and uneasy. So too did the sword’s words. The enemy was coming.

“What’s wrong?” Rivun asked.

“Nothing.”

“I disagree.” Rivun eyed the two sentries and then, taking a step nearer, lowered his voice. “Did it speak to you? Just now … the weapon, Rarokan, did it talk?”

Karus hesitated. The elf looked earnest, grave even. Admitting it sounded crazy.

“The wizard who made the Anagradoom what we are told us the sword would speak to only those who bonded with it,” Rivun said. “You have already forged the link. The proof of that was when the warden tried to take the blade.”

“It talks to me from time to time,” Karus admitted. “More so now than before.”

“Good.” Rivun nodded his head. “That is evidence of the bond between you becoming stronger. The sword is waking up from its long slumber. Soon, it will come into its own and that is when we must begin to worry, to be on guard.”

“Do you know what the sword does?” Karus asked. “How the magic works?”

Rivun looked for a moment like he would answer, then his lips drew together into a line and he shook his head.

“What do you know but are not saying?” Karus asked.

“I have said too much already,” Rivun said. “The sword’s mysteries are for you to work out on your own, not for me to tell you that of which I know little. What I do know is that, eventually, the sword will become a threat to you. At that point, if able, we will intervene.”

Karus resisted a scowl. He wanted to enjoy the morning, but here was yet another concern, a future worry. Feeling far from happy with the answer he’d gotten from the elf, Karus turned away and started off. Rivun followed a couple of steps behind.

They were in his headquarters compound. Lamplight shone outward from the main administrative tent. As usual, his clerks began the day early. The sides of the tent had been rolled up and Karus could see the clerks setting out and sorting tablets, preparing for the rush of strength totals and reports that would soon arrive from each cohort after the legion was rousted from sleep. Even the camp followers and slaves would be paraded and counted.

Karus eyed the tent and considered stopping by to check in with Serma, but then disregarded that idea. His chief clerk needed time to prepare himself and become organized for the day ahead. Right now, while there was time, Karus wanted to see the camp, to walk a bit and get some exercise before settling down at his desk, where he’d likely find himself chained to duty for the remainder of the day. Then, all that would be before him were administration issues, problems, and headaches that only he ever seemed capable of solving. He pushed onward.

As he passed by the administrative tent, the guards assigned to duty there came to attention. Karus offered them a simple wave and continued past, moving toward the street that led from the headquarters compound to the rest of the camp. There were more guards posted there. As he approached, they too came to attention. The optio in command of the detachment offered him a smart salute, which Karus dutifully returned.

Then they were on the street and out into the camp. Karus turned to the left and began walking. The air was cool, a change from what was to come during the day, for it would soon grow hot and uncomfortable. After a few paces and through the morning gloom, he spied another elf coming their way.

Her blonde hair had been tied back into a single braid. She was dressed in the green and brown of a ranger. There was always a grave look about Si’Cara, which he could understand, especially after all she had been through.

That said, she was stunningly beautiful, a marble goddess come to life, who looked no older than a girl in her early twenties. Despite that youthful appearance, she was old beyond measure and so too was Rivun. Just the thought of elven longevity made Karus uncomfortable. When he grew old and passed from this life, they would still have centuries ahead.

“Si’Cara,” he greeted, coming to a stop. “How are you this morning?”

“Karus,” she replied and gave a curt nod to Rivun before turning her attention back to him. “I am well and looking forward to beginning the day with your woman.”

“My woman?” Karus asked, surprised. Why were the elves calling her his woman this morning? Si’Cara only ever referred to Amarra by mistress or High Priestess.

“Yes, you know, Amarra,” Si’Cara said, then a slight grin slipped onto her face. “I am teasing, Karus. Tal said I should stop being so serious. It was an attempt at being less formal and to bring some humor to my conversations—perhaps, in hindsight, a poor one at that.”

“Uh huh,” Karus said and shared a glance with Rivun, who looked thoroughly amused by the exchange.

“You need to work on that a bit more,” Rivun said to her, “the humor, that is … ”

Si’Cara’s face tightened as she turned her gaze upon the other elf.

Rivun held up both hands to her. “I am just saying, perhaps a little more practice might help.”

“On your way to wake Amarra, then?” Karus asked, drawing her attention again.

“Yes,” Si’Cara said. “An early start to her training will be good for her. While the army is stopped here in this place these next couple of days, I intend to make good use of our time.”

Karus gave a nod of understanding. In consultation with his dwarven ally Dennig, he had called an extended break in their march westward. Many of Dennig’s dwarves had been gravely wounded. So too had a good number of his own men.

Riding in carts and wagons along an unpaved and poorly maintained road had been a torturous experience, and that did not factor in the day’s heat, which frequently was brutal.

Then there had been the civilians, the newly minted slaves, and camp followers to consider. They were not accustomed to hard marching and had needed a break as well. So, after traveling no more than a hundred fifty miles from Carthum, Karus had called a halt to the march and given everyone a two-day break.

He felt there was little risk in doing so. His cavalry had scouted seventy miles out in every direction. His cavalry prefect, Valens, had reported no serious threats, only a handful of smaller groups, refugees all, on the move. Like his legion and its allies, those bands were also heading west, seeking to flee from the Horde.

Just days before, Karus had wrecked the only enemy army within weeks, if not months of marching against him. So Karus had felt relatively safe ordering a short halt to their movement westward. Still, he was in a strange land that he did not yet fully know. When the opportunity presented itself, he’d push the army harder, for he wanted to place as much distance between him and the enemy as possible. That would give him time and breathing room to plan, prepare, and build upon his strength.

“And how is the training going?” Karus asked Si’Cara. “How is she doing?”

“Amarra has shown considerable improvement in not only the use of her spear, but also in hand-to-hand fighting. I will not tell her this, but I am well-pleased. She learns quickly and that is good.”

“High praise,” Rivun said.

“It is nothing but the truth,” Si’Cara said frostily.

Not only had Karus occasionally watched the ranger training Amarra, but he’d also seen Si’Cara in action and had to admit she was as deadly as she was beautiful.

Whenever there was free time, Si’Cara could be found with Amarra, training or talking technique. Amarra seemed to love every moment of it, even though, more often than not, she returned to their tent at day’s end battered, bruised, and thoroughly exhausted.

“I know she’s looking forward to more punishment meted out at your hands,” Karus said. “Every night she tells me how much fun she’s having.”

Si’Cara grinned at that. “It’s one of her endearing qualities. She is not a quitter … that is for certain. Once she decides something, she remains committed.”

“Then I will not keep you any longer.” Karus stepped aside to allow the elven ranger to pass. He watched Si’Cara as she moved off in the direction they had just come.

“She is quite dangerous,” Rivun said after a moment, his eyes trailing Si’Cara as she moved away from them.

“I agree,” Karus said, “and I am glad she is on our side.”

“Even her brother fears her to a degree,” Rivun said with a certain wariness.

“Kol’Cara?” Karus asked, looking over at Rivun. “Your leader fears his own sister?”

The elf gave a nod. “And rightly so, for one who has the ability to bring down the Elantric Warden also has the capacity to rise above not only herself, but also her station in this life.”

“Her station?” Karus asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“Si’Cara is now free to chart her own course. The invisible shackles of our people no longer bind her. Nor do they hold her back. But she is one who needs to be watched carefully, for not only does she have a good heart, but she bears great pain and sorrow within herself and for her husband as well. I know something of this … once she understands that life as she knows it is not over, a number of paths will open. The one she chooses to walk will determine much, I think. It will either lead her to the light or further toward the darkness.”

Karus eyed the elf a moment, then his gaze flicked back to Si’Cara, who was entering the headquarters compound. Si’Cara and her husband, Tal’Thor, were now considered exiles for what had happened in the forests outside of the Fortress of Radiance.

There they had fought not only the enemy, but also their own kind. That had led to the death of their people’s leader, the warden, and at Si’Cara’s hands too. Amongst elves, killing their own was an unforgivable sin. He’d been told her own people may one day choose to seek retribution.

Karus was glad the warden was dead. Te’Mava had been an evil witch, bent on killing both Amarra and himself. She had wanted to take the sword from him and use it to become powerful to the point where she could challenge the gods themselves. The warden’s mad desire to possess the sword had twisted her into an evil thing.

If Si’Cara’s people came calling, intent on retribution, Karus well knew he and Amarra would do all they could to defend her. She had become part of his extended family and had earned her place with them.

“I think,” Rivun said, “that her training of the High Priestess will do her some good, perhaps even take the edge off. It is good that you allow it.”

“Allow it?” Karus asked the elf. “I allow nothing. Amarra decides her own mind.”

“A poor choice of words,” Rivun said. “It is good then … that you encourage it.”

“It will benefit both of them,” Karus said.

“On that, I agree,” Rivun said.

Turning, Karus continued on his way. There were few out and about. Soon they were passing communal tents, where the men of First Cohort, his old unit, slept, snoring discordantly away. Before the men had turned in, the fires to the front of each tent had been thoroughly extinguished. Unattended fire was a serious risk in camp and one the legions did not tolerate.

Karus eyed the tents as they passed one after the other. Centurion Pammon, an old friend, now commanded First Cohort. Karus had enjoyed commanding the First as the legion’s primus pilus. Now, the entire legion was his responsibility. Still, he’d always have a special affection for his old cohort.

They walked the camp’s streets for a while, neither saying anything and encountering only the occasional officer working his way toward the officer’s mess, where a quick breakfast waited, likely porridge and some bread.

Eventually, Karus took a side street. He turned east and followed the next street all the way to the wall. It was built of turf, with a roughhewn wooden barricade set atop. A trench ten feet deep had been dug on the other side of the rampart.

The longer the legion remained in a given place, the more powerful and refined the defenses would become. The men would be put to work on the trench and a thousand other tasks to keep them from becoming overly idle, which could and would ultimately lead to trouble. No centurion wanted that … hence the busywork.

Sentries atop the wall stood in their assigned positions or walked their rounds along the platform, gazing alertly outward beyond the wall. They were searching for any hint of movement.

Karus did not expect any trouble, but the legion had its standard regulations and requirements, mandating that at the end of each day’s march, a stout fortification be built around the camp. Sentries were posted and regular patrols mounted.

Hard experience had taught the legions that such precautions were necessary, even when camping in friendly lands, and Karus was a firm proponent of security. When corners were cut, longstanding practices ignored, that was when disasters occurred. He had gone through too much, struggled too hard to keep his legion together to allow it to be destroyed or mauled due to being lax. Nothing irritated Karus more than laziness when it came to one’s duty.

With Rivun at his side, he climbed the smoothed, easy slope of the back side of the turf wall. The nearest sentries, two legionaries standing less than ten feet away, turned and spotted them approaching. Both came to attention as Karus stepped up and onto the defensive platform.

“As you were,” Karus said.

The legionaries relaxed a fraction but were still clearly on guard.

“See anything?” Karus asked, moving over to them and gazing out on the darkened rolling grasslands that spread eastward.

“No, sir,” one of the legionaries responded. “The night has passed quietly enough. Until a short time ago, the moon was up and bright. It was almost as good as daylight, sir.”

“Quiet is good,” Karus said.

“That’s the best way to pass the night, sir,” the other legionary said. “No drama to get excited about.”

“Quite right,” Karus said. “Very good, gentlemen, carry on with your rounds.”

“Yes, sir,” the first legionary said. Getting the message, both moved off to give their camp prefect some space.

Karus leaned his hands against the rough bark of the palisade and gazed outward, first at the grasslands and then at the rapidly brightening sky. The wind blew gently against his face. It smelled clean, fresh, and was cool, which was a relief from the heat of the day. Long gone and left in their wake were the ruins of Carthum and the harsh stench of smoke and burned flesh, though it lingered in Karus’s memory.

The road they had been following west stretched out eastward, disappearing into the murk from whence they had come. It traveled by the camp, a few yards from the north wall, and disappeared westward.

An abandoned farm lay not too far off to the left of where they had encamped. It was a dark shadow of a ruin, set amongst open and rolling terrain. The settlements they had passed since leaving Carthum had been deserted or sacked and razed. Scouts had found the remains of bodies in many.

So powerful was the fear of the Horde that very few people remained in these lands. Those precious few who had stuck it out had fled and hid at the appearance of the legion’s vanguard. Everyone traveling was a threat. Whether it be a small band or an army, people weren’t taking chances. Still, for all intents and purposes, the land about them was deserted.

Karus turned around and gazed upon the heavily shadowed camp. Up on the wall, he could see clear across to the other side, a near half mile away. With thousands upon thousands of tents, an incredibly large vehicle park for the hundreds of wagons and carts of the supply train, and pickets and pens for the animals, the camp was almost impossibly huge.

Since they had left Carthum, the army’s encampment was the largest Karus had ever seen constructed. The dwarves and everyone else traveling with them were encamped within its protective walls. He never ceased being amazed at what could be accomplished in so short a time, when thousands upon thousands of hands pulled together and worked as a team.

That was ultimately what the legions taught, how to work as a team, a cohesive unit. And when everyone worked together, the impossible became possible.

Karus let out a breath. By the gods, he loved the legion, the army life. He had been born for this, to lead. And by leading, he had so far achieved the impossible, keeping the legion together and in fighting trim. He had also engaged and defeated an enemy army far larger than his own. That, at the time, had seemed unlikely.

Could he keep on doing it? Could he keep on beating the odds?

The High Father had set Karus and Amarra a holy task, one with challenges that seemed almost insurmountable. They were to somehow escape this world, through a World Gate, to another. The problem was that the World Gate they needed was lost. No one, it seemed, knew where it was located … even the gnomes.

Karus wondered if those little creatures had an idea on how to find it. But he’d not seen any since freeing them in the enemy’s camp weeks ago. He supposed the gnomes could have lied to him, just to get him to free them from the enemy’s holding pen. It wasn’t the first time Karus had been lied to and would not be the last.

He was also expected to forge alliances on this world with its disparate peoples. He’d not had much success with that, other than with Dennig’s warband, and that was only a temporary compact … a tenuous arrangement at best. Once Dennig reunited with his people, he’d be going on his way and not looking back. At least, Dennig had been certain of that.

It seemed all the races upon this world loathed one another, for there was clear strife between the dwarves and elves and humans. They hated each other with a passion and trusted even less.

Karus felt a wave of unhappiness wash over him. Even though they had sufficient transport and food for months to come, his problems had only multiplied. He knew in the coming days his headaches would continue to grow.

He shifted his gaze to the shadowed hills beyond the camp to the west. They ran both north and south for as far as the eye could see. The road continued up and into them, likely winding and twisting as it made its way through the hills and continued westward. Where would that winding road take them?

“Much is on your mind, yes?” Rivun asked, breaking the silence and leaning his arms on the palisade next to Karus.

Karus gave a nod.

“Good,” Rivun said.

“What do you mean good?” Karus asked, looking over.

“Better you should worry about them than I. It is easier that way, at least for me.”

Amused, Karus gave a chuckle. He well understood what the elf was doing. Rivun was attempting to lighten his mood some.

“How old are you?” Karus asked, looking over at the elf, deciding to put discomfort aside. “How old are you really?”

Rivun did not immediately respond. When he did, there was a tiredness to him that had not been there the moment before.

“To be honest, I have stopped counting the passage of time. It has become rather meaningless. But I will say that, like you, I was born upon another world, one called Longtow. Many centuries ago, in search of a new home, we came to this world as refugees.”

Karus had heard that world mentioned before by Kol’Cara. “I understand Longtow is beautiful.”

“It was,” Rivun mused softly, “but for me war colored it ugly, ruined what once was … lovely and breathtaking. Longtow now holds nothing but sorrowful memories. The beauty that world held is lost forever, never again to be reclaimed and enjoyed even in memory.” The elf sucked in a breath and let it out as he gazed over the rolling grasslands and the lightening sky. “I have found that I am unable to see beauty anymore.”

“Not at all?”

“It is one of the reasons I joined the Anagradoom, so that in the future, those of my kind would be spared what I and so many others have gone through. For me, this world is filled with pain, suffering, and loss.”

“So much for this being a good morning,” Karus said to the elf. “You’re as grim as a burial detail.”

Rivun shot him a slight grin, but Karus could readily see the pain in the elf’s gaze. Despite his outward appearance of youthfulness, Rivun had been wounded, and scarred deeply.

Karus had seen such looks before in men whose soul had been damaged and hurt. Either they had seen too much war or had lost too many friends or perhaps had simply even witnessed too much death. It was just as bad as a cancer, for it ate at one from within. Sometimes men recovered; sometimes they did not, learning to live with it, or worse, ending their own lives.

“The real tragedy is that, before the war, I was an artist. My purpose in this life was once to replicate or create beauty.”

“Really?” Karus was surprised by that. “You were an artist? What kind?”

“I painted things on canvas. Really … whatever moved me. My work was highly prized, sought after … ”

The elf fell into silence, his gaze going distant. Karus scratched an itch upon his arm as he looked over at the elf, who was wearing black leather armor and was armed with a sword and two daggers. He could see no artist there, only a hardened warrior who appeared little more than a youth. His pointed ears gave away his heritage.

“Perhaps,” Karus said after a long moment, “when we get to the next world, there you will once again find beauty, eh? Maybe you will pick up the brush once more.”

Rivun regarded Karus with a strange expression. “I do not think so. No longer is oil paint applied to canvas my medium. Those days are gone forever. I will never pick up another brush. My artist’s tools, my purpose, are now my blades.” The elf reached down and patted the pommel of his sheathed sword, then touched each of his two daggers.

The elf smiled sadly and turned his gaze down to the ground for a moment.

Karus did not immediately respond. He stared into the other’s eyes and felt that Rivun was deadly serious. Were all of the Anagradoom like him? Had they all been forced to abandon their passion in this life and replace it with the pursuit of death?

A horn blew out a series of loud notes, shattering the silence of the night and calling the camp to wakefulness. Moments later, shouts of the officers rang out as they rousted their men from their nightly slumber.

Karus inhaled deeply through his mouth and let it out through his nose. He turned his gaze away from Rivun toward the brightening sky to the east. It had turned a pinkish orange and was much brighter than when they had arrived. Even if Rivun could not see it, Karus himself saw beauty there. He hoped he’d never become as jaded as the elf.

“You chose the path of the blade,” Karus said.

Rivun gave a slow nod. “It is the dark path that I embraced, that I now walk.”

“One you hope Si’Cara does not take,” Karus said.

Again, Rivun gave a nod.

“Why?” Karus asked.

“She stole my heart long before she gave hers to Tal’Thor.”

Karus found himself surprised by that. “You love her, then?”

“I do,” Rivun said, “and it will forever be unrequited, for such are the ways of my race.”

“She knows you love her?”

“Yes, but her heart has been pledged … given freely to another.”

“I see,” Karus said.

“You are beginning to,” Rivun said. “You are beginning to see.”

Karus turned his gaze out to the brightening horizon. His early morning walk had not gone the way he had expected. If anything, he had more to think on. He looked over at Rivun and just shook his head.

“You elves are a complicated people.”

“Some would say we are a tortured people.”

“Tortured and complicated, then?”

Rivun gave a shrug of his shoulders.

“Right … time to get to work.” Karus clapped his hands together and started down the earthen rampart, intent on making his way to headquarters to begin his day. From the corner of his eye, he caught Rivun looking out at the dawning day for a long moment before the elf turned away and followed after him.

Chapter Two

Following Serma’s gaze, Karus looked skyward. Squinting against the suns, he scanned the magnificent blue that stretched outward overhead. There was not a cloud in sight. After a moment, he spotted a flight of what looked like birds, only Karus knew better. They were dragons, taltalum, and they were flying impossibly high.

He recognized Cyln’Phax, her mate Kordem, and their children, Mirdrone and Ketin’Phax. The other two dragons were not in sight, but they were out there … somewhere.

At most times, one or more of the dragons could be seen patrolling the skies overhead, for the enemy had dragons of their own, wyrms. Karus had seen those creatures in action. It had been a terrible and fearsome display of vicious might and had taught him to respect their power and strength.

And respect them he did. There would be an accounting for what he had done to the enemy, what had occurred in Carthum. He had no doubt about that. The Horde would strike back. The only question was simply … when and how?

At any time, his enemy could send a flight of their wyrms to attack him. And without the taltalum shielding his army, Karus understood he would have no chance against them, none at all.

Both Kordem and Cyln’Phax had insisted that a wyrm attack was a very real possibility, likely even, so the dragons remained close to the army and remained vigilant as it marched steadily westward, away from the advancing dark tide that was the Horde.

There was good news on the horizon, though. Kordem and Cyln’Phax had sent out a call for help. More taltalum were on the way. When they arrived, his options would increase. Until that happened, though, it was far better to play it safe and keep the dragons near at hand than take the risk of sending them away on patrols.

Karus rubbed the back of his neck as he watched the dragons soar high overhead. They were barely specks set against the blue. It was comforting to have them providing an overwatch.

Karus sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. The day had dawned unexpectedly pleasant. Gone was the oppressive heat that sapped at one’s soul, causing the sweat to pour forth. There was even a gentle breeze, and as they neared midday, it had remained temperate, not too hot or cold.

The day was so fine, Karus had ordered a table set up outside his office to conduct business. Turning his attention back down to the table, he glanced at the wax tablets before him that Serma had just provided. Placing both hands on the table, he leaned forward and studied one for a long moment.

“So,” Karus said to Serma as he tapped the wooden edge of the tablet with a finger, “if my rough math is correct, we have around eleven thousand men under arms, between the legion and the auxiliary cohorts.”

Serma returned his gaze back to Karus. Without even glancing at the tablet or the one he held in his own hands with his notes, he said, “Ten thousand eight hundred and fifty-two effectives to be exact, sir, with three hundred and ninety-nine horse soldiers, most of which are out in the field on deployment. We also have twelve additional mounts reserved for messengers, and of course your horse, sir, Brutus. I did not include the mules or other draft animals in the count. I can provide that if you wish.”

Shaking his head, Karus expelled an unhappy breath. “Between the auxiliaries and the legion, we marched out of Eboracum almost fourteen thousand strong.”

“Yes, sir,” Serma said. “Unfortunately, as you are well aware, not everyone made it to Tannis.”

“No, they didn’t, and we lost more along the way.” Each time he thought on the hits the legion had suffered, he felt pained to his core. He did not like losing men or seeing them injured. It was not an enjoyable feeling and something he had never fully come to grips with.

But they were in an inherently dangerous business. One could do one’s best to mitigate risk to a degree, but there was no avoiding it, not if one wanted to be a successful leader in battle. A soldier’s profession was a hazardous one and men died even if one did everything right. That was a fact that he had long since accepted.

He wished he had more men, but much of that wasn’t his fault. The responsibility for the legion’s staggering losses lay solely upon the doorstep of the former legate, who had rashly marched the legion north to tackle the Celts alone and without the might of the Roman army in Britannia. But for Karus and his quick thinking, that impetuous and glory-seeking act had almost seen the legion destroyed. Julionus, however, had paid for his ambitions with his own life.

Had the gods not intervened and transported the legion to Tannis, the entire legion, along with Karus himself, might have perished. For that mercy and honor, Karus gave thanks to his god, Jupiter … on this world known as the High Father. But still, Karus wanted … needed more men.

“Wishes are like daydreams,” Karus said to himself wistfully. “They’re not tethered to reality.”

“Sir?” Serma asked.

Returning to the present, Karus glanced over at his chief clerk. “What’s the current tally of the camp followers?”

Serma consulted the tablet in his hand. “Including the slaves, as of last count eight thousand sixty-five, one more than yesterday due to a birth. The dwarves also supplied us their latest strength tally and have four hundred and eighty-one combat effectives, with a like number ineffective and injured. Half of those are walking wounded, sir. The other half require transport.”

“So, a little over eleven thousand combat effectives, then.” It was a considerable force, but a small one, especially when compared to the enemy army that had marched on Carthum. He had destroyed that force, but the enemy had much more where they had come from. Karus well understood another army would march against them. It was just a matter of when. It was why they were marching west and away from the enemy.

“Yes, sir,” Serma said neutrally. “We have two hundred and seven of our own on sick call, most of whom are injured from the fighting in Carthum. Of those, Ampelius anticipates we will recover one hundred and five. The rest will be disabled to one degree or another. A few will require a longer convalescence before they can return to duty. And … ” Serma hesitated a moment. “And, sir, amongst the disabled we had a suicide last night.”

Karus blew out a heavy breath. “That’s the third one in the last week.”

It was not uncommon for men who had been crippled in the service of Rome to end their lives rather than go on. The world in which they lived was a hard and unforgiving one and Karus had no way to change it, especially with the legion actively on the march. Those disabled would be confined to the wagons and were at the mercy of others to help them get by.

It was a disagreeable situation to be sure, and one he knew not how to solve. He rapped the table lightly with his knuckles. One birth and one suicide. It was almost like the gods were sending him a message.

“He had been wounded in both legs, sir,” Serma added. “The rot had set in. I was told he was scheduled for amputation this morning.”

“What was his name?”

“Sessarius from Second Cohort,” Serma replied.

“I know him … he was a good soldier,” Karus said, thinking on the tragedy of it. The man had been a good-natured fellow, one whose spirit could never be kept down for long. He was always ready with a joke or humorous comment.

“One of the medics, or even possibly Ampelius himself, likely slipped Sessarius a knife, sir,” Serma said.

“It would not be the first time.”

“Do you wish me to find out who did it?”

After a moment’s thought, Karus shook his head. “No, I do not. The matter is in the High Father’s hands now, not ours, and besides, it was likely a mercy to lend him that blade. Ampelius is on the schedule for a meeting with me later, right?”

“Yes, sir, he is.”

“I will personally speak with him about it. Now, let’s move on. How is the supply situation looking?”

“We’re at nearly six months’ worth of food on hand, most nonperishable, salted beef, pork, grain … ” Serma said. “Of course, that estimate is based off an accounting for our current numbers. Should we take in additional peoples, which I know you wish to do, that estimate will of course change, sir.”

“Discussing the usual … hungry mouths, I see?” Felix, the senior centurion for Fourth Cohort, said as he joined them at the table. Felix came to attention and saluted, then relaxed. Unlike Karus, the centurion wore his armor. “Sorry I’m late, Karus. I had disciplinary issues to attend. They took a little longer than expected.”

Each morning, Karus had gotten into the habit of asking a different senior centurion to join him for the morning status briefing and update. It helped him not only stay in touch with his senior officers, but also allowed them to get a sense of the army as a whole and how things were going.

It was very easy to become isolated by command-level responsibilities, and when that happened, a leader typically became detached from the men and their concerns. Karus had seen that happen more than once and was loath to allow it to occur to him. Besides, frequently when issues arose, his officers came up with unique ideas and solutions that he himself had not considered.

“Anything to worry about discipline-wise?” Karus asked, for disciplinary issues could be an indicator of a wider problem, including dissatisfaction in the ranks.

“No, sir,” Felix said. “The normal bullshit we must deal with. You know how it is … bored youngsters doing stupid shit or playing pranks against other units and getting caught in the act … that sort of thing. I had to smooth something out with Pammon. Say … ” Felix glanced around, searching. “Where’s your tribune? Shouldn’t he be here for this meeting?”

“I sent Delvaris out with Valens to get some experience with the cavalry. He needs to better understand how horse soldiering works, and I thought this a good opportunity to get that done. Valens will help mold the boy, harden him some, perhaps even put him in command of a patrol or two where he can get some real experience. With luck he will return with some saddle sores to boot.”

“That’s what happens when you ride for a living,” Felix said. “Real men march to war, like the gods intended.”

Karus turned his attention back to his chief clerk and gave a curt nod to Serma. “Continue, please.”

“Well, sir,” Serma said, “as ordered, we put foraging parties out early. They left on schedule, about two hours before dawn. Unfortunately, this region we are encamped in has been heavily picked over. I am concerned there will not be much to be had.”

“So, anything additional we find will be negligible at best,” Felix said.

“Yes, sir,” Serma said to the centurion. “That is my thinking. The longer we sit here, the more we take a bite, as they say, out of our on-hand supply.”

“When I saw him the other day, Valens mentioned several nearby rivers, minor ones,” Felix said to Karus. “We could get into the habit of detailing fishing parties. We have plenty of cordage from Carthum to make nets and could also build stone traps in the shallower rivers, then smoke the fish caught.”

“That’s really not a bad idea,” Karus said thoughtfully as he tapped his index finger upon his chin. “We need to get more aggressive with our foraging efforts, only I don’t see us having sufficient time to properly smoke the fish we catch, especially if we get them in large numbers.”

“Well, we use whatever we catch for fresh rations, then,” Felix said. “Perhaps, when we halt the march next for an extended period, we dispatch fishing teams immediately. We do have large quantities of salt. Instead of using our nonperishable food stores, we could probably salt some of the catch and consume the rest. Then there’s garum. That’s easy enough to make. All you need is a bucket or barrel. We could give the boys a little taste of home.”

“All right, you’ve sold me on the idea.” Karus almost salivated at the thought of real garum. The sauce took time to ferment and, though pungent, made everything taste better, at least in his opinion. “Valens’s boys can begin looking for good fishing ground, lakes, rivers … Serma, kindly send our cavalry prefect a note on that, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And let’s make that a standing order. Every time we stop, fishing parties are to be put out to the nearest bodies of water. If we discover a good enough fishing ground, we will make our effort an industrial one and will halt the march to extend our supplies some.”

“I will see the orders are cut, sir,” Serma said and made a note on the stylus he carried. “What about hunters? We’ve passed a number of small forests along our march or directly off it. The cavalry reports more ahead.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Felix said. “We have some accomplished hunters. We might as well see what they can bag and bring home. Fresh meat between fish and game will be more than welcome. There’s nothing like a good meal to help keep up spirits.”

“I like it,” Karus said. “Speaking of our cavalry, has anything interesting come in from them this morning?”

The cavalry was his eyes and ears and was slowly building a map of the terrain that lay in the legion’s path. Valens, who commanded the cavalry wing, had dispatched teams of scouts in all directions. As a result, periodically throughout the day several messengers would ride in to report on something of interest they had discovered or to deliver a status update.

“I was about to bring that up, sir. A rider arrived about an hour ago. He reported his troop encountered a group of refugees off to the north, ones we know, sir, the Adile”—Serma leaned forward and, moving a tablet out of the way on the table, placed his hand down upon the map, where a mark had been made with a charcoal pencil, tapping it with a finger—“about here, which is around sixty miles from our current position. They were discovered sheltering in a small abandoned town.”

“Xresex’s people?” Felix said. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever see them again. Once Ord and Logex turned on them, I was certain the survivors had fled and scattered, if they’d not all been outright killed. It’s nice to hear they made it out of the city.”

“Well, sir, it seems he managed to flee with around two hundred of his people,” Serma said. “They are in a bad way, with little food. Xresex would like to return and rejoin us. How would you like to respond?”

“What do you think?” Karus asked Felix.

“To our knowledge,” Felix said to Karus, “the Adile did not betray us. But they still represent additional hungry mouths that we will need to feed, and they likely don’t have very many fighters left. I saw the bodies, sir. A good number of their fighters had been cut down. We’d be mainly taking on the old and young.”

Shifting his gaze to the map, Karus considered what Felix had said. He rubbed his jaw. After a moment, he looked up at the centurion. “What do you think of Xresex?”

“I liked the man. He seemed straightforward, honest enough, intelligent even.” Felix hesitated as he sucked in a breath. “If you are still keen on taking in allies to swell our fighting strength, I’d say this is a good start, an opportunity we should not turn away.”

“Why?” Karus asked, though he was inclined to take Xresex and his people in. “You just said they won’t have very many fighters left. Where do you think our advantage lies in sheltering them?”

“Well … taking them in again when they have little to offer would be a powerful statement to groups that choose to join us, especially in light of the Sersay and Taka’noon’s betrayal and subsequent enslavement. At the very least, it would give any future allies who are thinking of betraying us second thoughts. There would be a story to tell, of not only justice, but one hinging on loyalty and commitments honored.”

Karus gave an absent nod, for Felix’s thinking was in line with his own.

“Very well, you make a strong point, and more importantly, you are right in your reasoning.” Karus turned back to Serma. “The Adile can return to the fold. Send a couple of wagons of food and a detachment to escort them back, no more than two centuries, understand? You can take them from the Second.”

“As soon as we’re done here, I will see to it immediately, sir,” Serma said. “They will depart within a couple of hours.”

“Anything else from our advance scouts?” Karus asked.

“Nothing major or pressing, sir,” Serma said. “One interesting item though … a rider came in overnight. Prefect Valens reports evidence of another group, several thousand strong, moving along the road ahead of us. Apparently, having marched up from the south, they picked up the road about forty miles to the west … just beyond the hills.”

“It could be more of Carthum’s people,” Karus said.

“This group could also be another unrelated band of refugees,” Felix said.

“Our cavalry has apparently found the remains of the camps they believe are from this group. They are similar to our marching encampments, fortified walls, a trench and such,” Serma added.

“Soldiers, then,” Felix said. “They might belong to the King’s rearguard or a force that had been out foraging and is now on their way back to catch up with the main group.”

“I suppose that is possible,” Karus said. “They might also be dwarves.”

“The prefect has detailed a team of scouts to try to locate them, but he warns they may be too far ahead to reasonably catch.”

“Well, we know most people in this region are fleeing westward,” Felix said. “We’re bound to bump into more. This group is not a problem until they become one.”

“Yeah,” Karus agreed. “When we pass one of their camps, I will have Dennig look it over. He might be able to tell us if it’s dwarven.”

Motion to his left drew Karus’s attention. Kol’Cara strode up to their table. The elf wore his black leather armor and had a sword sheathed on each hip. The scar on his face gave him a somber and serious cast. It marred an otherwise perfectly formed face.

The leader of the Anagradoom gave a curt nod to Rivun’Cur, who was standing respectfully a few feet away. Rivun immediately bowed his head slightly, then turned and without a word left them.

Kol’Cara looked to Karus with a curious expression. Like many of the Anagradoom, he had a way of communicating what was on his mind without speaking.

“We’re just going through the scouting reports and morning briefs,” Karus said, switching to Common so that the elf could follow. “The business of the legion never rests. I am sure you have figured out that by now.”

“With so many people to manage and look out for, I would expect no less,” Kol’Cara said. “Armies require organization and this one is more ordered than most that I have seen. I must admit … I am impressed.”

A thought occurred to Karus. “While we were in Carthum, you sent someone to your people, seeking their help. I’ve been meaning to ask, did the messenger ever return?”

“No,” Kol’Cara said, his face hardening ever so slightly. “Miron’Teh did not come back.”

“Do you think something happened to him?” Felix asked in heavily accented and broken Common. He was getting better at speaking the language with each passing day, but it still sounded painful to Karus’s ears. Both he and his girl, Keeli, were learning the new tongue. So too was the rest of the legion. Karus had mandated a portion of each day be devoted to language instruction. Within a few weeks, with any luck, the majority of the legion would be able to speak Common fluently.

“I do not know and that troubles me,” Kol’Cara replied. “It is possible he was intercepted by the enemy. Still, Miron is experienced, one of the best of us. He was a ranger before he joined the Anagradoom, so such a thing should not have happened, but … it is something to consider.”

“Do you think there’s a chance your people are holding him?” Karus asked. “Like they were Dennig? After the warden’s death there are bound to be hard feelings between us.”

“That is a possibility,” Kol’Cara said gravely, “and one I think more likely. I sent Lithel’Sol and Verkes’Sil to see if they could determine what happened to Miron. Both will be able to pass more easily through elven lands and settlements than one of the Anagradoom.”

“Those are the two rangers that came with us after the Fortress of Radiance, right?” Karus asked.

“Yes,” Kol’Cara said. “I would have preferred to send a more sizeable force, but our duty to protect you is far more important than one life. After the fight in Carthum, the numbers of the Anagradoom have dwindled. Myself included, there are only six of us left, not counting Miron, of course.”

“What will they do if he is being held?” Karus asked curiously.

“They will do all they can to free him,” Kol’Cara replied.

“You mean break him out?” Felix asked.

Kol’Cara gave the centurion a nod. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Will they kill your own people to free him?” Felix asked. “Will they kill elves?”

“If they must,” Kol’Cara said. “Though they are still kin, the Anagradoom no longer have a people.”

“But the two you sent are rangers,” Karus said, “not Anagradoom.”

“That matters not,” Kol’Cara said. “They have cast their lot in with us and are as much outcasts as I or Si’Cara and Tal’Thol. They will do what is necessary, as they have sworn oaths to me. Still, killing fellow High Born is distasteful and will likely bring complications for us if it becomes necessary.”

“Complications I can deal with,” Karus said. “If there is anything we can help with, I expect you to speak up.”

“I will, but until we know more, there is little to be done at this point.” Kol’Cara gestured down at the table with the map and wax tablets. “I did not mean to interrupt. Please continue.”

Karus turned his gaze down to the map that had been laid out on the table. It was fragile and missing pieces along the edge. Stains dotted its surface. The map had been found in Carthum and detailed some of the terrain to the west of the city. It ended at the range of hills just to the west of the encampment. Beyond that, Karus only had the reports from Valens to go by, and his cavalry prefect, due to no fault of his own, was slowly filling in the picture of what lay in their line of march. There was just too much ground out there to cover.

Karus moved several wax tablets off the map so that it could be better seen and then touched the western edge. He looked back on Kol’Cara.

“Perhaps you might be able to help us. I believe we are here, at the edge of the foothills. This here is the road we are following. It cuts a path straight through the hills.” Karus moved his finger across the map’s edge. “What can you tell us about the terrain which lies beyond the map? Courtesy of my cavalry, I currently have a rough picture of sixty to seventy miles beyond, but after that, we are relatively blind terrain-wise.”

“Have you asked the dwarves?” Kol’Cara asked. “They surely have detailed maps. Dennig should know the land well.”

“Yes, I have,” Karus said, “and we’ve gotten little. Dennig claims he has no maps to the west and that we should just follow the road. He says we will eventually bump into his people. He doesn’t seem to want to give more than that.”

“If he does,” Kol’Cara said, “his Thane might take issue with him for giving away the position of their forces or where the dwarves have likely holed up. As it is, he will have hard questions put to him when he returns to his people.”

“For allying with humans?” Karus asked.

“Yes,” Kol’Cara said.

“So, he’s covering his ass,” Felix said. “I swear, some things are universal in all armies.”

“I have not heard that saying before,” Kol’Cara said. “It is an interesting use of words, and if my understanding of them is correct, then you have the right of it. The dwarf is trying to minimize the damage and keep his Thane from relieving him.”

“Ha,” Felix said and pointed at Karus. “I told you last night that’s what he’s doing. He’s covering that ass of his.”

“Yeah.” Though Dennig had become a friend, apparently that did not extend to sharing detailed knowledge of the region they were marching into. That frustrated Karus, but he understood why his friend was doing it. Kol’Cara had only confirmed it.

In Dennig’s eyes, as soon as he encountered his people, he would be taking his warband and going.

Karus looked at Kol’Cara. “About the terrain? What can you tell us on what we will face in the days ahead?”

Kol’Cara turned his attention to the map. As if to get his bearings, the elf studied it a moment. “Though I have roamed this continent extensively, keep in mind I have been in stasis for a very long time, so towns, villages, and cities that were once thriving may no longer be. Conversely, there may be settlements I do not know of. So I cannot help you there. As to the physical terrain, the features of the land … beyond the hills, there is a great river, I would say three hundred to three hundred and fifty miles away. My people call it the Siron’Suk. It will prove a serious obstacle, for it is over a half-mile from one side to the other. The current is fast, and it is deep. Beyond that, there are rolling grasslands before you come to a forbidding mountain range. It is likely at those mountains that you will find the bulk of Dennig’s people. Dwarves prefer mountains—well, really, they like living under them.”

“Under them?” Felix asked. “How can an entire people live under a mountain?”

“They build their cities underground,” Kol’Cara said. “Unlike the elves, they are a burrowing people.”

“Imagine that, Karus,” Felix said, turning to him. “I bet that would be something to see, an underground city, eh?”

Karus was not too keen on that. He had once toured a silver mine in Gaul. It had been cold, dark, and wet. The slaves who had worked it measured their lives in weeks. Once sent to the mines, they rarely, if ever, saw the sky again.

“These mountains,” Karus said, “are they passable?”

“I recall there being several passes that lead through to the great grasslands of the west that make the ones we are passing through seem small by comparison. Depending upon the time of the year, taking this army through could prove challenging. But the first real difficulty you will encounter will be the Siron’Suk. I would focus on that first, for it will not be an easy task to cross.”

Karus glanced over at Felix and Serma. He almost grinned. “A river like that would have plenty of fish, don’t you think?”

“Undoubtedly.” Felix brightened and rubbed his hands together almost eagerly. “We build some boats, do some cast net fishing … and where there’s a river, there is bound to be lots of game nearby too. I think a protracted stop would be in order as well.”

Clearly surprised by the response he had received, Kol’Cara looked between them. The elf blinked rapidly and tilted his head to the side as he regarded them.

“You are not concerned about crossing such an obstacle? It will take many boats, rafts even, to get so many people as you have across, along with the animals and supply train. I am not saying it will be an impossible task, but the effort alone is sure to be a titanic one, requiring many days of ferrying, perhaps even weeks.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Felix scoffed. “It’s just a river, is all.”

“What?” Kol’Cara asked, his brows knitting together. “You doubt me? You question my word?”

The elf seemed more surprised than offended.

“That’s not what he meant. We will simply build a bridge,” Karus explained with a shrug. “As long as the material we need is within easy reach, I don’t see this river being much of a problem. If not, we will move down or up the river, until we find the resources we require to construct what we need. At that point we will effect a crossing.”

“A bridge”—Kol’Cara shook his head in dismay—“a half-mile-long bridge? Really? You can build a bridge to ford the Siron’Suk? I don’t think you comprehend the true scope of this river or the magnitude of such an endeavor.”

“We have engineers with us who are not only skilled at such things, but well trained,” Karus said. “I do not expect a river like the one you just described to pose much of an obstacle to the legion. Besides, we practice river crossings regularly, at least several times a year, and then with an eye toward having the other side be contested when we make the attempt.”

“Indeed, we have,” Felix said. “Still, I think we should speak to Germanicus. The sooner he begins his planning, the better.”

“That’s a good idea,” Karus said, thinking on the legion’s chief engineer. “We will want to have Valens send a troop ahead on a long-range reconnaissance to locate this river, eyeball it, and get us a detailed report.”

“We may even want to send one of the engineers along with them to assess the viability of a crossing and find a good spot in advance,” Felix said. “That way, we can plan ahead and get to work as soon as we arrive.”

“Serma,” Karus said, “see that it’s done. My only condition is that Germanicus remain with the legion. He is too skilled an engineer. I cannot afford to lose his services. He has a tendency to take risks I’d prefer him not to.”

“Yes, sir,” Serma said, picking up a wax tablet and making a note upon it with a metal stylus. “I will make that plain to him. It will be done.”

“Also, send word to Ipax and Bannus alerting them they will be resuming their responsibilities as training officers,” Karus said, his thoughts returning to the Adile. “With the return of Xresex’s people, there will undoubtedly be a few fighters left. I’d like to reactivate the First Light Carthum Cohort. When we bring in more peoples, we will assign their fighters to fill out its ranks first before creating additional cohorts.”

“It might be a good idea to send both men out with the escort,” Felix suggested. “They can greet Xresex and the Adile on your behalf. It will also speed up any reintegration.”

“See to it,” Karus said to his clerk.

“Yes, sir.” Serma made another note upon his tablet.

“Flaccus is out with the foragers?” Karus asked.

“Yes, sir,” Serma said. “It’s his turn for that duty.”

“Is he expected back tonight?” Karus asked.

“I believe,” Felix said, “he was planning on spending the night in the field with his men and returning tomorrow evening with whatever they are able to scrounge and gather.”

Karus gave a nod, then turned back to Serma. “What of the training schedule?”

“As ordered, First, Second, and Third Cohorts are in training regimen today,” Serma said, “while Sixth through the Tenth, along with the auxiliaries, have been assigned to improving the camp or are performing logistical duties or maintaining kit. Tomorrow the cohorts will switch responsibilities.”

“Excellent,” Karus said, well-pleased. Since leaving Carthum he’d wanted to get the legion back into a regular routine, which would help with discipline and morale. This first real halt would see the beginning of that process.

“It might not be a bad idea to let the men see you as they go about their drills,” Felix suggested.

“A tour,” Karus said, jumping on the excuse to escape the shackles of his desk. “Serma, see that I have two hours after lunch set aside for that purpose. Any appointments you have scheduled, move them.”

“As you wish, sir,” Serma said with a near grimace of distaste.

“Anything else?” Karus wanted to take a break and grab something to eat before he settled into work. Inside the administrative tent, the sides of which had been rolled up, a few yards away, a line had formed, and people were waiting to see him. At times, his meetings seemed never-ending.

“I think it would be a good idea to have Ampelius and some of his assistants make the rounds amongst the followers and slaves,” Felix said.

“Why?” Karus asked.

“To be sure things are hygienic in their portion of the camp, sir,” Felix said, “lay out our expectations in no uncertain terms, especially for those who are new to our ways. That way we can hope to avoid any outbreaks of disease. Regular inspections, along with corresponding punishments, would be a good idea.”

Karus gave a nod of understanding. Though he had been doing it for several months now, commanding an entire legion along with all of her auxiliary cohorts, especially while on the move, was still relatively new to him.

In effect, Karus was in charge of a small army. That responsibility extended to the followers and now the slaves they had taken as well. At times, it was impossible to think of everything and that was yet another reason why he regularly included his officers in his morning meetings and briefs.

“I will speak with Ampelius about that later today when I see him,” Karus said, then thought a moment more. “Let’s put our primus pilus in charge of the camp followers.”

“Pammon?” Felix asked. “That’s usually the camp prefect’s job, the supply train too and organizing the build-out and breakdown of the camp.”

“Yes, it is,” Karus admitted, “but I’m a little busy commanding the legion at the moment. I simply can’t manage everything. This is one of those times I must delegate.”

“That brings up another issue then,” Felix said as he shifted his stance, appearing suddenly hesitant as he regarded Karus.

“And what is that?” Karus asked, wondering what was coming. “Spill it.”

“The legion needs a second in command,” Felix said. “And I don’t mean from the tribunate. Delvaris is too junior and inexperienced. I have no doubt he will develop into an excellent soldier and ultimately a leader, but the boy is little more than a glorified aide. If push came to shove, the centurions would not accept him.”

Karus understood that Felix was correct. He needed to select an experienced second in command, someone who was respected. If Karus fell ill, became injured or incapacitated, someone needed to step up, set the example, and lead.

The legion had a chain of command for a reason. They could ill afford to have infighting or squabbling, especially at the wrong moment in the middle of a fight. Karus knew he should have designated a deputy weeks ago. He had put it off for too long and Felix was telling him as much.

“What do you propose?” Karus asked plainly.

“Name an experienced second and promote him to camp prefect,” Felix said.

“I am the camp prefect,” Karus said.

“You are effectively the legate now,” Felix said. “I think it time you formally take up that title.”

“Me, legatus?” Karus barked out a laugh. “Seriously? Without the emperor’s appointment?”

“We’re on a different world, Karus,” Felix said and tapped the map with a finger. “There’s no emperor here and Rome is denied to us forever. We’re on our own. Face it, you are the highest ranked Roman around. We”—Felix held his hands out—“are the might of Rome on Tannis, and as such, we—well, you specifically—get to make the rules.”

“I still don’t like it,” Karus said. “It’s just … just unnatural.”

“What about acting legate?” Kol’Cara suggested.

“That would work,” Felix said, then shook his head, “but I think it is better for Karus to simply be the legate. That way when treating with other peoples of this world, he has the full title of legate, meaning the position is firmly his and his alone. We need a commander in chief. It is time to make it official, is all.”

Even though his words made sense, Karus scowled at his friend, feeling deeply unhappy with what he was asking. To promote oneself seemed wrong.

“Before making such a decision, I would need to discuss this with the senior centurions and make certain that they are good with it. To do otherwise would be presumptuous and might cause discord, especially in the ranks.”

“Karus, I hate to break this to you, but we’ve already spoken.”

“You have?” Karus felt himself scowl. He should have known. Felix would not have brought the subject up unless he had the backing of the other officers. “The senior officers talked?”

“Last night we did, and the matter is decided. We’re all in agreement and want you, Karus.”

Karus rubbed the back of his neck.

“You are now effectively the legate,” Felix continued. “Whether you want the fancy title or not, all you need do at this point … is accept, which of course, you will do … for the good of the Ninth. The legion is asking it of you.”

“More like demanding it.”

Felix suddenly shot him a lopsided grin. “Congratulations, by the way, old boy. I have no doubt this will end up a sight better than retiring and working for your brother in Sicily.”

Karus felt not only outflanked but outmaneuvered. He had never thought to ever achieve a rank higher than camp prefect. That was as far as someone like him could rise within the ranks of the legion. He wasn’t a noble or someone flush with cash to purchase such an august appointment.

Serma was looking smug at the news and seemed wholly unsurprised. He had clearly known what was coming and had been told to keep his mouth shut.

Being named legate was an honor to be sure, especially since the senior centurions had made the decision for him. Karus supposed that was the ultimate measure of their respect. He well knew he could not refuse, especially in light of the task the High Father had set for him and Amarra. That said, he did not feel worthy of such an honor, for he had begun his career in the army as a regular recruit.

“Legate? Really?”

“Really,” Felix said. “Get used to it, sir.”

“I will do all I can to prove that the trust of the centurionate has not been misplaced,” Karus said quietly to Felix.

“You already have, my friend,” Felix said. “Without you, this legion would not have held together. It would have been destroyed in Britannia. We all recognize that.”

Karus gave a nod and was silent for a long moment. He felt a powerful swelling of emotion at his friend’s words. He opened his mouth to speak, but Felix beat him to it.

“You were destined to lead this legion. More importantly, you are gods blessed, Karus … Amarra too.”

Karus cleared his throat. “And who would you have as camp prefect? Who would the senior centurions want for that post?”

“We felt we would leave that up to you,” Felix said. “After all, it is the legate’s job to choose his camp prefect, and we know you will only pick the best of us, someone you feel can do the job right.”

“Flaccus,” Karus said. “He is my choice.”

“He won’t want it”—Felix pursed his lips—“and some of the centurions, not to mention Valens, won’t like it either.”

“Valens won’t have a choice,” Karus said, “and they won’t either if they want me to serve as the legion’s legate. I may not personally like Flaccus, but he’s very good at what he does, and he did an excellent job taking command while I was away at the Fortress of Radiance, especially with the sickness and the rebellion. More importantly, he loves the legion like I do and he’s a born fighter.”

“Are you certain you want him?” Felix asked. “Flaccus can be a royal pain in the ass.”

“Yes, he can, and that’s what I need in my camp prefect,” Karus said. “Without hesitation, I would trust him with the legion. He will take the responsibility seriously and not let it go to his head. More importantly, he will do it with integrity and tell me what I need to hear, not what he thinks I want to hear.”

“All right,” Felix said. “Flaccus it is, then. Who will replace him as Fifth Cohort’s senior centurion?”

“I will leave that decision to Flaccus,” Karus said. “He will want to promote someone from within his cohort. After all, Fifth Cohort has been his baby for years, like the First was mine.”

“Yeah, I think he would appreciate that,” Felix said.

Glancing down at the map for a couple of heartbeats, Karus shook his head. “I don’t see myself as a legate … I really don’t.”

“Not now, but you will grow into the position,” Felix said. “Besides, you are already doing the legate’s job and much better than Julionus ever did it. A title changes nothing at this point. All we’re doing it making it official, is all.”

“Right.” Karus looked over at Serma. “Call a meeting tonight of the senior centurions to take place after the suns set. Arrange for food to be delivered … wine too. Also, send a messenger for Flaccus to immediately return to the encampment. I don’t want him to know why I’ve summoned him. I will break the news myself when he arrives that he is now camp prefect. It will be easier that way. Then, we will make this … ” Karus glanced at Felix, “official tonight and drink to the legion’s success.”

“Yes, sir,” Serma said.

“Is there anything else?” Karus asked, for he wanted to be alone for a few moments to absorb the enormity of what had just happened … the honor which had been bestowed upon him.

“No, sir,” Serma said. “Other than those waiting to see you. We’ve already covered everything I had prepared for the morning briefing.”

“Good,” Karus said, then turned to his friend. “Felix, I will see you this evening. Serma, give me half an hour, then send in whoever’s in line first. Also, send for my lunch. I will take it at my desk.”

“Yes, sir,” Serma said.

Felix offered a salute, which Karus returned. With that, Karus strode off for his tent. He desperately needed some time to think, to recover from the surprise that he was now the legion’s legate.

He could feel Kol’Cara, Felix, and Serma’s gazes upon his back as he made his way to his tent and stepped through and into his office, allowing the flap to fall back into place.

The tent was warm and a little stuffy, musty even. He stood there for a moment, unmoving.

Him, the legion’s legate?

It did not seem real. It was preposterous, but at the same time also seemed strangely right. He looked around at his darkened office and spotted the pitcher with wine on a side table, along with several mugs. He went over and poured a healthy portion into a mug.

“I am the legate.” Karus took a deep pull of the wine. He wiped his lips with the back of his arm. “Bloody hell.”

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