Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) by Marc Alan Edelheit Page B
Authors: Marc Alan Edelheit
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stressful situations, it was best to think clearly.
Sheathing his dagger, the captain glanced at the faces of the men crowded around. Assaulting an officer was a capital offense, with an immediate sentence of death. The concern written across many of the faces present was plain. Stiger concluded that the would-be assassin was a respected man amongst the rank and file. Otherwise he would not have warranted such concern.
Stiger turned back to Bennet, held securely by sergeant Ranl. Bennet was big, strong and tall; in short, a near mountain of a man, just how the legions preferred their legionaries. His face was deathly pale. He knew his own personal doom was at hand.
Stiger’s eyes narrowed as he studied the wretch. He wanted nothing more than to string this skulking shitbag up by his entrails and let him die a slow death. The man had meant to take Stiger’s life and to the captain, there was nothing more personal than that. Stiger’s rage toward Bennet blazed hot and he almost took a step toward the man, ready to just end it now. Once again, and this time with great effort, the captain forced himself to calm down. As reason returned, he realized there might be an opportunity to turn this to his advantage.
The captain took a deep breath, bringing on the forced and studied calm that he had learned to project during battle. Sparing another look at the concerned faces of his men gathered around, he became convinced that there was indeed an opportunity to manipulate the situation to his gain.
“Are you all right, sir?” Lieutenant Ikely asked once again, voice firm and hard. The lieutenant was not looking at Stiger, but at the men around them. His sword was still out. “Sir?”
“Lieutenant, I am fine,” Stiger affirmed, loud enough for those gathered to hear. “Bennet here simply asked for a demonstration in my knife fighting technique. I guess you could say things got a little spirited. He is larger than I am and strong as an ox. I am confident Bennet can now attest to the fact that skill and technique will win over brute strength.”
“A demonstration?” Sergeant Blake asked, turning a skeptical look on his captain, clearly not believing a word of it. He fingered the sharp edge of Bennet’s knife. “Are you certain, sir?”
“It looked as if he tried to assassinate you, sir,” Sergeant Ranl stated, still retaining his vice-like grip on Bennet. As big and strong as the legionary was, the sergeant was the stronger man. Bennet was helpless in his grip.
Stiger stepped forward and retrieved Bennet’s knife from Sergeant Blake. He casually flipped it around and offered the weapon hilt first to the would-be assassin.
“Sergeant, had someone tried to assassinate me, I can assure you I would have cut him open like a prize pig who had failed to win at the fair,” Stiger growled for the benefit of the crowd and to discourage any future attempts. For added emphasis, he used the hilt of the dagger to trace a line from Bennet’s navel to his sternum, all the while looking the would-be assassin meaningfully in the eye. The man’s eyes widened in terror as the captain casually retraced the line back down.
Satisfied that he had made his point, Stiger once again offered the knife back to Bennet. Ranl was slow to release the man. Bennet, hands shaking violently, carefully took the knife from his captain. As he did so, he never took his eyes from the captain’s steel-eyed gaze. So deep was the look, it seemed as if the captain could see his very soul.
Having returned the knife, Stiger intentionally turned his back on Bennet and addressed the crowd of legionaries. Nearly the entire company had gathered around, absent those on duty. The looks of concern had changed to expressions of relief. The men never enjoyed seeing one of their own put to death. At the very least, such acts reminded them of their own mortality.
“Hand to hand fighting is a very critical skill to learn,” Stiger stated raising his voice. “I was
Sheathing his dagger, the captain glanced at the faces of the men crowded around. Assaulting an officer was a capital offense, with an immediate sentence of death. The concern written across many of the faces present was plain. Stiger concluded that the would-be assassin was a respected man amongst the rank and file. Otherwise he would not have warranted such concern.
Stiger turned back to Bennet, held securely by sergeant Ranl. Bennet was big, strong and tall; in short, a near mountain of a man, just how the legions preferred their legionaries. His face was deathly pale. He knew his own personal doom was at hand.
Stiger’s eyes narrowed as he studied the wretch. He wanted nothing more than to string this skulking shitbag up by his entrails and let him die a slow death. The man had meant to take Stiger’s life and to the captain, there was nothing more personal than that. Stiger’s rage toward Bennet blazed hot and he almost took a step toward the man, ready to just end it now. Once again, and this time with great effort, the captain forced himself to calm down. As reason returned, he realized there might be an opportunity to turn this to his advantage.
The captain took a deep breath, bringing on the forced and studied calm that he had learned to project during battle. Sparing another look at the concerned faces of his men gathered around, he became convinced that there was indeed an opportunity to manipulate the situation to his gain.
“Are you all right, sir?” Lieutenant Ikely asked once again, voice firm and hard. The lieutenant was not looking at Stiger, but at the men around them. His sword was still out. “Sir?”
“Lieutenant, I am fine,” Stiger affirmed, loud enough for those gathered to hear. “Bennet here simply asked for a demonstration in my knife fighting technique. I guess you could say things got a little spirited. He is larger than I am and strong as an ox. I am confident Bennet can now attest to the fact that skill and technique will win over brute strength.”
“A demonstration?” Sergeant Blake asked, turning a skeptical look on his captain, clearly not believing a word of it. He fingered the sharp edge of Bennet’s knife. “Are you certain, sir?”
“It looked as if he tried to assassinate you, sir,” Sergeant Ranl stated, still retaining his vice-like grip on Bennet. As big and strong as the legionary was, the sergeant was the stronger man. Bennet was helpless in his grip.
Stiger stepped forward and retrieved Bennet’s knife from Sergeant Blake. He casually flipped it around and offered the weapon hilt first to the would-be assassin.
“Sergeant, had someone tried to assassinate me, I can assure you I would have cut him open like a prize pig who had failed to win at the fair,” Stiger growled for the benefit of the crowd and to discourage any future attempts. For added emphasis, he used the hilt of the dagger to trace a line from Bennet’s navel to his sternum, all the while looking the would-be assassin meaningfully in the eye. The man’s eyes widened in terror as the captain casually retraced the line back down.
Satisfied that he had made his point, Stiger once again offered the knife back to Bennet. Ranl was slow to release the man. Bennet, hands shaking violently, carefully took the knife from his captain. As he did so, he never took his eyes from the captain’s steel-eyed gaze. So deep was the look, it seemed as if the captain could see his very soul.
Having returned the knife, Stiger intentionally turned his back on Bennet and addressed the crowd of legionaries. Nearly the entire company had gathered around, absent those on duty. The looks of concern had changed to expressions of relief. The men never enjoyed seeing one of their own put to death. At the very least, such acts reminded them of their own mortality.
“Hand to hand fighting is a very critical skill to learn,” Stiger stated raising his voice. “I was
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