Page 103 of Scorched Earth

“These paintings are all that remain of that era,” Ceenah said. “Yet I believe that so much was lost to the blight that the land neverrecovered. That despite the myriad of underground rivers that flow down from the mountains, Anukastre turned to sand.”

“But the same tenders who defeated the blight could have brought life back to the lands. Why didn’t they?” Malahi asked, and Lydia could feel the other woman’s worry, because most of Mudamora’s population wouldn’t survive life in a desert.

“I have no answers,” Ceenah said.

“What of your own tenders?” Malahi pressed her hands flat against her trousers as though wiping away nervous sweat. “If they were able to create the life we’ve seen in Obarri, why not expand their reach? Why not make Anukastre green again?”

“We have no tenders.” Ceenah looked away. “Yara has cast her eyes away from Anukastre, and all that you have seen was built and cultivated by mortal hands and talent. You are the first of Yara’s marked to step foot here in living memory.”

Not for the first time, Lydia wanted to scream that she’d not asked more of Hegeria when they’d spoken. The Six had witnessed all this, knew the answers, knew what was to be done, yet they seemed content for their marked to flounder in the dark. Why was that? They obviously did not want the Corrupter to consume Reath, yet they refused to reveal the information needed to drive it back.

“I… I could try,” Malahi offered. “There is much to work with here in Obarri, and a great deal of water. Maybe I could make Anukastre look like this again.” She gestured to the paintings.

“I thank you, Your Grace, but no.” Ceenah inclined her head. “We are accustomed to our way of life, and the desert protects us from our enemies to the north and to the east.”

Malahi gave a slow nod, then said, “Perhaps a better path would be for those in the east to be your enemies no longer. My father is dead, Your Grace. I am the High Lady of House Rowenes and the Queen of Mudamora. It is within my power, if you will it also.”

“It is something to be considered,” Ceenah admitted.

“Would you also consider lending your army to the fight?” Killian asked. “We have a common enemy, and if Mudamora falls, it will not be long before that enemy turns on Anukastre.”

“The blight needs life to consume in order to spread,” Ceenah answered. “The same dunes that protect us from human enemies will protect us from the corrupted use of tender power, for there is nothing here for them to take. My people are already few. I’ll not risk them fighting Mudamora’s battles.”

“But—”

“No.” Ceenah’s voice brooked no argument. “I will aid you in returning to the coast, where you will surely find a Maarin ship willing to deliver you back to Mudamora. But I will not involve myself or my people in this fight.”

“Coward,” Agrippa muttered, but Ceenah only replied, “We will grant you time to eat and rest, then my son will escort you to the coast. That you keep your lives is concession enough on my part, and one I make only in deference to the gods who marked you or”—she cast a cold glare at Agrippa—“those protected by the marked.”

“This is all well and good,” Baird said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the caverns. “Except you have weather rolling in from the west, and in Anukastre, that means a sandstorm. None of us are going anywhere just yet.”

37TERIANA

It all happened with what felt like impossible speed.

Logically, Teriana knew speed was the Empire’s greatest weapon, their control over countless xenthier paths allowing them to transport both men and information so quickly that their enemies had no chance to prepare. Yet even with Quintus filling her ears with information about relay systems and men trained to find the fastest route for information to travel, her stomach still dropped when word came that the Thirty-First legion had crossed through the Bardeen stem and were on their way to Aracam.

Marcus didn’t even give them the opportunity to unpack. He allowed the older legion only part of a night’s rest, the majority of which they spent fraternizing with the Thirty-Seventh, and then the entire camp began the process of readying to board the fleet of ships waiting in Aracam’s harbor. The plan to invade via a bridge over the Orinok was apparently only a ruse so that Kaira would send soldiers to defend the fortress there, lessening the defenses of Emrant. Though last she’d heard, five hundred of the Thirty-Seventh remained there with Rastag, working steadily on the bridge.

Though this was the path Teriana had chosen to walk, there was a part of her that desperately wished to backtrack and find anotherroad, especially once she got a look at the Thirty-First. Well into their twenties, the legionnaires werehardin a way that even the Thirty-Seventh hadn’t achieved, but it was how they interacted with Marcus’s legion that made the reality of what she’d unleashed so terrifying. The Thirty-Seventh treated the Fifty-First like little brothers. The Forty-First like an irritation they had to put up with. But the Thirty-First? These men they treated like comrades, for they’d fought side by side more than once.

She’d watched Marcus walking with their legatus, Zimo, who was a tall man clearly born to Faul Province, judging from his midnight hair and the shape of his eyes, and they clearly got along swimmingly.

“They were a few years ahead of us at Lescendor, and Marcus is friendly with Zimo because of a deal they made over soap,” Quintus had told her with a yawn when the Thirty-First arrived. “Good men to have at your back. Even better to share a drink with, but don’t gamble with them. Notorious cheaters.”

“Noted.” She’d watched the older legionnaires pass their tent, eyes raking over her with cool curiosity. This was what would be invading Gamdesh. This was the force she’d brought to the West.

Her allies.

Yet as the thousands upon thousands of Empire legionnaires made their way to Aracam’s harbor, Teriana knew it was too late to go back.

Though the shocking inefficiency of the process was giving her many more hours to come to terms with it.

“This is a mess.” She wiped sweat from her brow as she watched two groups of men from different legions trying to converge down a street, their centurions barking at each other that they had the right of way. Where hours before they’d been friends and comrades, the disorganization, compounded by the incredible heat of the day, had several of the centurions looking close to blows. And noise of the same was coming from across Aracam as Marcus’s army, nearly twenty thousand men, all tried to move toward the harbor to be loaded onto the waiting ships. It was already late afternoon, the sun low on the horizon, and only a third of the Thirty-First legion had been loaded onto the ten newly arrived Katamarcan ships. At this rate, it would be past midnight before the fleet could set sail.

Quintus pulled off his helmet to wipe sweat from his brow, which was furrowed as he panned the chaos of shouting, sweating legionnaires. “The signals are all conflicting,” he said. “Whoever is givingout the orders must be drunk. I don’t envy the punishment Marcus will dole out, because this will have him right pissed off.”

Teriana was inclined to agree. Yet as she shaded her eyes to better see Marcus where he stood at the end of the dock with a group of officers, the only sign he gave that he was aware of the disorganization was the scowl on his face each time he glanced toward the city. Her instincts jangled in her head,nothingabout this process a reflection of Cel efficiency, and certainly none of it a reflection of the way Marcus ran his legions.